Mr. January: Mercer's War Book 1

by Jordan Dane

  The doctor pulled back the sheet and exposed the face of one of the young women who died in the warehouse fire. She had soot caked inside her nostrils and her lips were tinged in black. Her face and eyes were swollen.

  “Will you be staying?” Dr. Baxter asked.

  “I can’t think of a better way to spend my day than observing three ‘Y’ incisions by you, Doc, but no. Not today. Just give me the Cliff Notes.”

  The coroner gave his preliminary findings based on his initial observations. Cruz made notes of key elements. Cause of death appeared to be smoke inhalation. Ligature marks on the wrists and ankles were made by barbed wire. The women had been locked in a storage unit and the arson investigator had found evidence of arson with an accelerant used. The coroner expected to find tissue hypoxia from the absorption of poisonous toxins like carbon monoxide and cyanide.

  “Any ID?” the detective asked.

  “We ran fingerprints on all three victims and got hits. I printed their records for you.”

  “Thanks, doc.” He flipped through the file the coroner had made for him. “Kaity Boyer wasn’t one of them?”

  “Did you expect her to be?”

  “No, but someone did.” Cruz raised the file and said, “Thanks, Doc. Shoot me finals when you have them.”

  “After the lab work is back, I’ll do that.” The coroner smiled. “Say hello to that lovely wife of yours.”

  “I don’t have a wife, doc.”

  “Well, you better get on that.” He grinned.

  Cruz only shook his head, but as he headed out of autopsy, he thought of Zoey Meager. She would be happy to hear her friend wasn’t part of the collateral damage, but the Boyer girl was still missing and the case had grown ice cold. He hadn’t bought Zoey’s mystery guy story. It sounded like a distraction from the real question of why she’d been found on the premises of an arson fire.

  On a hunch, he grabbed his cell and called Detective Dravin.

  “Hey, Dravin. You get any hits on the barbed wire ligatures?”

  “Yeah, just now. Looks like we have a network of human traffickers with a conduit through Colorado and Wyoming, but here’s the clincher,” Dravin said. Cruz heard paper rustling in the background. “ViCAP had two vics in Denver and three in Pueblo, all of them killed in arson fires. Sounds like our traffickers have a pipeline along I-25 and a thing for arson. It destroys witnesses and evidence.”

  “Yeah, thanks. Good work.” He ended the call with his mind reeling with questions as he punched a button on the elevator, heading for the ground floor.

  With other linked cases having barbed wire ligatures and the signature MO of killing women by arson fire, Cruz knew it would be less likely that Zoey Meager had anything to do with the warehouse fire, but he didn’t like the way she held back from him. He understood that she didn’t trust cops when it came to her best friend, but her dangerous slant toward becoming a vigilante made him wonder what she was hiding.

  The cop who took her missing person report thought she’d hidden something, too. He’d written at the bottom of the paperwork, the letters JDLR and circled them for the next cop to see. That was cop speak for ‘just doesn’t look right.’ Yeah, that was a thing cops did. They made up code that became universal, passed from cop to cop. Cruz had spoken to the cop who’d written the initials to ask why he’d made the note. The officer shared his thoughts.

  ‘She was sketchy on how she knew her girlfriend was in trouble when I found out later that she wasn’t even at the bar where the girl was last seen. It’s like she was making stuff up to sound worse than what it was, to get us to make her friend’s case a top priority.’

  Cruz had the gut feeling she held something back, too. Zoey had told him she’d heard rumors of a gang that was into trafficking girls. Had she made that up? When he hadn’t found a gang connection, he had the suspicion she might have embellished her story to move it up their caseload. But if what she’d said about her mystery man in the warehouse had been the truth, he had a person of interest to question. Maybe he could connect the dots.

  Cruz had to find Zoey.

  ***

  Downtown Denver

  Hanging out all day at a Dumpster turned out not to be a stellar plan.

  Come on. You need me. I know you do.

  Zoey pleaded in her head with the faceless man, the one with the chilling deep voice. Her mental ramblings had become her mantra and as the hours wore on, she spoke to him as if he were with her.

  Infections are serious. You can’t ignore them. You have to trust me. I know stuff.

  Stashed in a backpack, she’d brought medical supplies to treat his wound and a few other store-bought things, but what guy turned down medical help when he needed it? A criminal, a guy with secrets, that’s who. Her better judgment played devil’s advocate without relenting. She knew her impulsive actions might get her neck deep in trouble, but she had to try.

  I have to do this for Kaity.

  In daylight she had retraced the steps she’d taken while trailing Mr. January last night. She’d used her senses to confirm which Dumpster. As a nurse, she’d seen her share of puke and could target it at fifty paces. From the garbage bin she took off on foot and followed where he might’ve gone from there.

  Epic fail.

  After she returned to her car, she powered up her phone and checked her cell for messages. She’d had her cell off because she didn’t want the police to use her GPS to find her. Detective Cruz had called five times, but left only one voice mail. Her fingers raced across the keys to listen to his message. She didn’t know what he would say, but if he had any word on Kaity, she had to know. Zoey listened to Cruz’s gruff, no nonsense voice on the recording.

  ‘The bodies we found at the warehouse fire, none of them were your friend, Kaity Boyer. She’s still in the wind, but I have questions on the guy you claimed was inside the warehouse, the one you think you saw. Can you come to Central Station to work with a sketch artist?’

  The man’s words dripped with condescension. He didn’t believe her the other day and time hadn’t improved his attitude.

  “You’re only dangling a carrot because I ditched the cop you sent to tail me. You want a second shot at me.”

  If the detective decided to hold her for questioning, or on suspicion of being involved in the arson, she could be held for three days—or worse.

  No way. Not gonna happen.

  Zoey had to rely on her instincts now. Cops could stop her from searching for Kaity. She couldn’t let that happen.

  Before she turned off her phone, she listened to Kaity’s recorded message one more time, the last time she heard her friend’s voice. It ravaged her heart and punished her, abuse she deserved. Guilt drove her, but love—and her desperate need to have a second chance with a friend she thought of as a sister—had consumed her life.

  Zoey wiped tears from her face and turned off her phone before she started her Subaru. She drove back to the area where she’d found the trash Dumpster. She dared to drive through the labyrinths of dilapidated warehouses in a part of Denver she’d never been, before last night. Zoey had her doors locked and eyes alert as she searched for Mr. January and his dog, but it was getting dark. After the sun went down, everything would get complicated and more dangerous.

  ***

  Downtown Denver

  After 7:00 pm

  The sun abandoned the day and sank in defeat beneath the skyline. Its retreat made dark ominous silhouettes of the towering warehouses she drove through and a chill closed in. Zoey felt trounced and exhausted. Her stomach grumbled in protest. When she found herself near the garbage bin where she’d started her day, she indulged her gut instinct and turned into the alley and parked.

  Something moved in the shadows.

  Zoey tightened her grip on the steering wheel as she peered through the windshield into the beam of her headlights. With a hand on the gear shift, she nearly put her Subaru in Reverse and hit the gas, until something made her stay.

  When
her headlights reflected off a pair of familiar dark eyes, her heart pounded faster. His dog. The big black animal crept toward her with head low and staring. She eased the vehicle door open and stood behind it, unsure if she should step out.

  “Good boy. Where’s your master?” She reached into the car, not taking her eyes off the dog, and retrieved her rucksack. “Show me where he is? Is he sick, boy?”

  The words were out of her mouth before she realized they rang with truth. Somehow she knew she’d guessed right. His dog had waited for her to return because his master was in trouble. She threw the backpack over her shoulder, locked her car, and focused on the dog.

  “Take me to him,” she whispered. “Show me where he is, boy.”

  The dog circled where it stood and whined. When she drew closer, the animal took off down the alley, only stopping and circling again if she didn’t keep up.

  “I’m coming. I’m coming.” She hoisted the shoulder straps of the heavy pack and picked up her pace.

  She followed the clicks of the dog’s nails on asphalt in the dark, wishing she’d thought to bring a flashlight. The animal made three turns, never faltering, and stopped at a fire escape. He looked back once and yelped before he climbed the stairs and sat on his haunches at the top landing.

  “What’s it gonna be, Zoey?” she asked under her breath. “A genius move or the dumbest thing you’ve ever done?”

  She didn’t feel lucky. Zoey took a deep breath, gripped the metal rail and climbed. Whatever the answer would be, she’d have to crawl through the window of a place suitable for the Unabomber and find out.

  After she got to the top landing, the dog didn’t budge. He sat and wagged his tail, but never tried to crawl through the window before her.

  Zoey straddled the sill and tossed her bag to the floor. It took too many precious seconds to see anything in the dark cavernous space. In a far corner, she saw a flickering candle. It cast eerie shadows across the brick walls as she eased through the window.

  She sensed something in the room—someone.

  Zoey held her breath and inched toward the sputtering candle and a mattress on the floor. Someone moved under a sheet and groaned. She gripped the straps of the rucksack, ready to swing it as a weapon, as she stepped closer.

  A man thrashed under dank bed sheets. His bare muscled chest glistened with sweat. He looked delirious and mumbled in his fevered sleep. His thick dark hair looked drenched and he had a day’s growth of stubble. The wound on his arm looked swollen and had turned an angry red with infection. The bullet hole had started bleeding again.

  Her throat went bone dry and her heart punished her ribcage as she knelt by him. She reached out her trembling fingers and touched his face. He was burning up.

  “Are you…okay?” She didn’t know if she said the words aloud and tried again, a little louder. “Remember me? I came back. Are you—?”

  The man moved with lightning speed and reached under his pillow. Zoey came face-to-face with a gun pointed between her eyes and she gasped. His fierce dark eyes stared at her and his hand shook with the fever under his skin.

  Zoey didn’t move.

  She didn’t breathe.

  Chapter 6

  Downtown Denver

  7:40 pm

  A tear ran down Zoey’s cheek as she stared into the barrel of his gun. She didn’t want to die.

  Please don’t do this.

  Anger flashed over his face and he mumbled something in Spanish. Wherever he was, he wasn’t with her or at the warehouse. The infection had him a world away and Zoey had no idea how to get him to see her.

  “I’m not who you think I am,” she begged with her hands raised. “You’re sick. You have a fever.”

  “Cállate!” he shouted, panting with the exertion.

  His eyes drooped and the gun trembled in his big hand.

  “I’m a nurse. I’m here to help you.”

  His eyes softened and his face went slack. When his chin dropped to his chest, he slumped back onto the mattress and passed out with the gun still in his hand. Zoey reached for the weapon with shaky fingers and slid it from his grasp. Her whole body shook when the worst was over.

  After she found a safe place to hide his gun, she got to work and unzipped her backpack.

  She would stop the bleeding, clean and dress the wound, give him meds for the infection, then do her best to bathe him, but nothing would be easy. The fever had a hold on him. He thrashed under her care. Zoey had to press her weight against him, to hold him down while she tended to his injured arm. She didn’t know if he was naked under the sheet and tried not to dwell on his impressive body.

  But he fought every touch she made.

  Worn out from the struggle, Zoey finally pulled away from him to search the room for other things she’d need. She found his stash of clothes and used a T-shirt to soak in water at a utility sink. She ran the wet cloth down his muscular chest and taut stomach to cool him off. When he quit fighting her, he fell into a deep sleep. For the first time, Zoey allowed herself to hope that she’d gotten to him in time and he’d be okay.

  The black dog crawled onto the foot of the mattress and nestled his chin on the leg of his sleeping master. A low rumbling whine broke the silence in the room and with big watery eyes, the dog stared at her.

  “You did the right thing, boy.” She reached out a hand and stroked the dog’s head, running her fingers through his soft fur. “I’m here now. Everything’s gonna be okay.”

  Zoey watched Mr. January sleep. Everything would be okay—until he woke up.

  He’ll wake up…eventually. Then what?

  Her eyes grew wide when she thought of what he might do. She had his gun, but a big man like Mr. January could hurt her or kill her with his bare hands. He didn’t need a weapon. Zoey would have him docile for only a short time. She had to act fast if she wanted answers for Kaity.

  By candlelight, she reached for her phone and looked up the number she had programmed into her cell for Detective Estefan Cruz. She’d added his name to her directory, along with all the other Denver police officers who’d given her empty promises on Kaity.

  Zoey made up her mind on what had to be done. She grabbed what she needed and headed for the fire escape, but before she left, she looked over her shoulder to the sick man on the bed.

  “Sorry. I have to do this,” she whispered, and crawled through the window.

  ***

  Denver County Fair Grounds

  8:30 pm

  The cryptic text message Detective Cruz received from Zoey Meager twenty minutes ago had intrigued him, but when he tried to call her, the infuriating woman had turned off her phone. He had only one chance to get this right and she didn’t leave him any time.

  The place would close at 9:00 pm.

  He hit the gas pedal, speeding down I-70 as he headed for the Denver County Fair Grounds. Up ahead he saw the colorful lights of the lit Ferris wheels and the rainbow neon of the Midway. He turned onto a side street that led to the livestock exhibits. When he saw the sign for ‘Bulls,’ he parked near the loading bay entrance and grabbed his cell phone to read her instructions once more.

  Livestock Exhibit - Bulls

  Go to stall 32 – Charolais “Joe Cocker”

  Under the SPERM FOR SALE sign, I’ve left you something you want. Run the fingerprints and I’ll contact you tomorrow for everything you have on him. If you want him, you’ll do as I ask.

  When he walked into the exhibit hall for bulls, he winced at the smell. The stench of bull shit had him cursing Zoey Meager under his shallow breaths. He followed the numbered stalls and found ‘Joe Cocker.’ The enormous white Charolais bull with its wet, slimy snout huffed in its pen. The animal’s owners were selling his sperm and had a poster advertising it.

  The detective found a plastic bag tucked behind the sign. In the bag was a flattened, discarded water bottle. He looked at it in the light and noticed the smudges of fingerprints.

  “Did it have to be a ‘sperm for sale’ si
gn, Zoey?”

  Cruz gave a thought to ask what the sperm sold for, but decided against the humiliation of knowing a bull named Joe Cocker made serious coin off his calf batter.

  The detective headed back to his car. By tomorrow, with any luck, he would have the identity of the man Zoey had taken the fingerprints from. Had she found the guy in the warehouse on her own? If she had gone vigilante on him, Cruz didn’t want to think of the danger she could be in. Or maybe she wanted to throw suspicion on someone else.

  Either way, Zoey Meager hadn’t given him any more reason to trust her. Tomorrow he would issue a BOLO alert. The entire Denver police force would ‘be on lookout’ for her and her vehicle. He’d track her credit card and ATM use, too. Cruz had to tighten the noose and bring her back in for questioning. He couldn’t allow her to use him and the resources of the DPD—not on his watch.

  ***

  Hours later

  Zoey paced the warehouse floor, watching Mr. January sleep. Whenever he tossed and turned from the fever, she cooled his body down with a wet rag. She touched his hot brow and prayed his fever would break soon. When he needed more medicine, she woke him enough to lift his head, give him pills, and make sure he drank water.

  In the flickering candlelight, he stared up at her, but he didn’t question why she’d come. Zoey wasn’t sure he remembered her, but the intimacy of taking care of him had satisfied them both. If Kaity hadn’t been in trouble and Zoey had met him under different circumstances, she might be looking at her next mistake. She zeroed in on guys who needed fixing or they found her. She’d always been a sucker for dark, brooding men, but add a hard body and fierce eyes that brimmed with mystery, and she was a goner. His full lips were a bonus.

  What are you doing, Zoey? The man is unconscious and most likely a criminal.

  Zoey sighed. The guy definitely had it all. The way his hair curled at the nape of his neck turned her on, utterly finger-worthy. After what she’d seen of his narrow waist and hips, she pictured her favorite part of the male anatomy—the small of his back and the gentle curve of his butt. Fantasizing helped her pass the time, but her physical attraction to him had to be shoved aside.