The shot she’d fired had been one of the barrage that had cut him down.
“The ME says any one of the shots could’ve been fatal, so unless you really want to know—”
“No.”
“I didn’t think so. If it’s any comfort to you, he died instantly.”
She’d missed seeing the worst of it. She’d been flat on her back, thrust backward onto the ground by the impact of the bullet her brother had fired at her.
“I hear you have a heck of a bruise,” Wiley said.
“Larger than my fist. The X-ray revealed a hairline fracture.” She touched her breastbone. “Which is why they’ve kept me here for another night. They’re giving me pain meds, and I’m still under observation.”
She’d been transported to the ER by ambulance, although she barely remembered that. It was probably for the best that her recollection of those hours immediately following the crisis were fuzzy.
In addition to the fracture and bruise on her chest, the scratches on her arms had been treated with topical antibiotics. Two stitches had been required to close the cut on her scalp due to the blow. She also had a slight concussion from it.
Added to these physical injuries were the emotional ones. She suffered bouts of uncontrollable weeping followed by periods of depression that left her nearly catatonic. The medical staff concluded that she needed a few days to recover from the ordeal.
“What’s one more night? Better to err on the side of caution,” Wiley said for something to say.
She didn’t bother to add anything.
It was an obligatory conversation between two people who had survived a catastrophe. They had matters to discuss, but the issues were delicate, and each was as reluctant as the other to broach them right now.
After a lengthy, awkward silence, she said, “Gwen Saunders called. That was thoughtful of her, wasn’t it? And Deputy Morrow came by this morning.”
“In an official capacity?”
“Royce Sherman’s murder was his case. Josh’s confession closed it. But he didn’t make the visit seem official. He expressed his condolences.”
“My wife sends hers, too.”
“Please thank her for the calla lilies.” She motioned toward the windowsill where now several flower arrangements were lined up.
“They’re from both of us,” he said, “but Marsha picked them out.”
“She must be terribly relieved that you weren’t injured yesterday.”
“Pissed off, if you want the truth. She said a glorified accountant had no business chasing around the countryside with a loaded weapon.”
Jordie gave him a weak smile. “She sounds like a sensible woman.” A beat, then, “You told Agent Hickam how it ended?”
“He’s on the floor just above you here. Still in ICU, but, yes, I filled him in. He couldn’t believe…well, none of it.”
“My brother tried to kill him.”
“He doesn’t hold that against you, Ms. Bennett. Josh is the only one accountable for the crimes he committed.”
She picked at the edge of the cotton blanket covering her.
“He played all the roles well. The spoiled man-child with acute anxiety. The downtrodden employee corrupted by his overbearing boss. But a cold-blooded murderer? I never would have guessed Josh capable of that.”
“Or of hating you bad enough to want you dead.”
“No,” she murmured. “I never would have guessed that, either.”
Wiley sensed her rising emotion and didn’t say anything until she’d used a tissue to blot her eyes. He then told her about a banker in Malaysia who’d called to inquire if Mr. Panella had remembered that second password that had caused him so much consternation.