The meeting broke up after that. Hickam sat down at the desk and began making calls. Gwen excused herself to do the same. Wiley walked over to Shaw and ordered him out of the chair.
“I’m driving you to the hospital.”
“Fuck that.”
“Enough with the tough-guy shit. You’re only human.”
“Oh, I’m human all right.”
“Okay, so give yourself time to recover.”
“I’ll recover.”
“Not unless you rest.”
“I’m staying.”
“Look,” Wiley said angrily, “I don’t want you dying on me of pure bullheadedness.”
“I’m not going to die.” Looking past Wiley, he addressed Jordie directly. “Panella is. I’m gonna kill him.”
Chapter 31
Gwen Saunders was joined by two other U.S. marshals—fit young men in jeans and black t-shirts—who were called in to assist with Jordie’s relocation. Among the marshals, Wiley, and Hickam, it was decided to wait until after full dark to make the transfer.
Shaw supported the postponement. That gave them several hours to plan how they would go about it and which safe house in the area would provide the best protection.
Shaw left the logistics of the process for the rest of them to sort out and took Wiley up on his suggestion that he sleep during the intervening hours. He didn’t feel the need to be hospitalized, but his body was demanding some downtime.
“Take Gwen’s bedroom,” Wiley said. “She’s going to be busy and won’t be using it.”
Jordie was in a huddle with Hickam and the marshals. Sensing his gaze, she looked at him, then quickly away. She was still furious at him for playing her. Or maybe her trip with Panella was the reason for her refusal to acknowledge him. Either way, she couldn’t avoid him forever. Even if she planned to, he wouldn’t let her.
He went into the bedroom and shut the door. The surgeon had instructed him not to get his incision wet for at least a week. He showered anyway, holding a plastic laundry bag over the wound with one hand, soaping and shampooing with the other.
He exchanged the bandage for a fresh one, which was among the items in the kit given him by the surgeon before leaving the hospital. Morrow had returned it to him when they were in Tobias. Also in the kit were several blister packs of antibiotics and a bottle of pain pills. He took an antibiotic capsule, but skipped the pain pill. He needed sleep, but not a hangover.
When he emerged from the bathroom, there was a room service tray on the nightstand. He scarfed down the grilled cheese sandwich and bowl of chicken noodle soup, reminding himself to identify and thank the Good Samaritan later. After finishing the meal, he gratefully lay down.
He wanted badly to throttle Jordie for not telling him about her Costa Rican excursion with Billy Panella.
He wanted badly to fuck her anyway.
Sliding his hand into his jeans, he tested the equipment and discovered to his relief that, despite the catheter, the anesthesia, and his overall weakness, it was in working order.
He was fantasizing about it in sexual congress with Jordie when he dropped into a deep slumber.
A tap on the door woke him. He sat up quickly and hissed a curse for forgetting to favor his left side. The room was dark. He checked the time. He’d slept nearly six hours and could tell already that it had done him good.
Hickam was standing in the open doorway. “Showtime’s in about twenty minutes.”
“Thanks.”
Rather than retreat, Hickam stayed. “Do you ever get tired of it?”
“What?”
“Manipulating people. Misleading them. Lying.”