False Truth 4 (Jordan Fox Mysteries)

by Diane Capri

  She slid both open palms down her sides to dry the cold sweat that popped right back. Her breathing was too shallow. At this rate, she’d hyperventilate. Jordan inhaled as deeply as possible and held the breath to a count of three and then exhaled long and slow. After a few of these, she felt a little bit stronger.

  Was she ready now? For months after the murder, she couldn’t sleep because she couldn’t turn the images off. She could still see the most horrific parts too easily by simply closing her eyes, even now, after five years of trying to subdue them.

  She didn’t want to see video of her old house, even from the outside, because she remembered too well how the kitchen was streaked with her mother’s blood when she came home from school that day. Crime scene tape in the front yard had failed to prevent countless pairs of boots from trampling her mother’s beautiful flower gardens. She could hear again as if it happened right here, right now, reporters referring to her mother as a body and the devastating Breaking News and the Developing Story that simply stopped but never really ended.

  Jordan had promised herself for five long years now that she would find the end of the story. She’d find out what happened. She’d find out who was responsible and make sure they didn’t get away with murdering her mother. And she would never, ever stop until she did.

  Which meant she had no choice. She had to watch all of the tapes. Find some place to start.

  The only thing she had to fear was the truth. She could handle that. She hoped.

  Jordan closed her eyes, grasped the handles of her chair, and pushed herself onto her feet. Jordan Fox on Two Capable Legs, right? She walked toward the tapes, taking each step deliberately to keep her balance on legs that seemed suddenly not so capable.

  You’ve grabbed the tape before. You know you can do at least that much. Get to the shelf and grab the tape. Don’t be such a ninny.

  Jordan’s slow march led her to the endless rows of miniature archive tapes. She remembered which shelf to go to—how could she forget?—and, without overthinking it, she reached up quickly and grabbed the tape with the proper code. 2009-12-4/19:00:00-23:59:00. The portion that included the longest four minutes ever for Jordan. The top of the 11:00 p.m. newscast on December 4, 2009.

  She continued to wipe cold moisture from her palms, but they didn’t stay dry very long. She held the cassette with two fingers. Couldn’t risk ruining it.

  So far, so good. Now take it back to the edit bay and play it. One step at a time, Jordan. You don’t have to solve the case tonight. You don’t even have to listen to the audio the first time around. Just let your eyes absorb the 11 p.m. newscast. Then, if you’re ready, you can watch the newscast again with audio.

  A fluorescent hall light flicked on, nearly blinding her. Patricia.

  “Hey, kid.” Her voice came out as a perma-grumble. “Been looking all over for you.”

  Jordan nearly lost her balance, but pressed a sweaty palm against the wall to stabilize herself just in time. Instinctively, she held the tape behind her back. Patricia wouldn’t be okay with Jordan’s snooping. Not at all.

  “You know one of the Pop Star contestants is singing at the Plant University soccer game tomorrow, right?” Patricia asked.

  Jordan’s mind returned sluggishly to the present. Plant University was just across the street. She could run over tomorrow, interview the person, and get a jumpstart on this awful assignment. Get it out of the way. Shortcut the whole thing, somehow. Maybe even avoid going to Jacksonville altogether.

  She felt some of the heavy dread she’d been carrying slip off her shoulders.

  “Thanks for the tip.” Jordan put a smile on her face and in her voice. “What’s the name?”

  Patricia paused and looked at her strangely. Like she might ask why Jordan was standing here in the dark when she was supposed to be in the editing booth. “Dominique Wren. Haitian originally. Local now. Could be good.”

  Jordan breathed a little bit easier, for now. “I’ll get right to work on her audition tape.”

  Patricia said nothing more before she turned and went back the way she’d come. Not that she’d forget what she’d seen.

  Jordan felt deep in her bones that Patricia’s finding her in the vault was a bad sign. The woman had a mind like a sinkhole, sucking up every bit of info she came into contact with and storing it for god knows what sort of blackmail.

  Patricia might very well turn around and come right back. If she found Jordan watching the archive tape, it wouldn’t go down well. The last thing she needed was Patricia on her case even more than she already was.

  Jordan carefully replaced the tape, and then rushed back to her edit bay to get to work on Dominique Wren’s audition before Patricia did something else to make sure she was doing precisely what Patricia told her to do.

  Brenda Fox’s killers would have to wait.

  CHAPTER 4

  “Morning, Dad,” Jordan said when she entered their newly renovated kitchen the next morning. They’d only returned to their home a couple of days ago and she was still getting used to the changes. The bomb in her kitchen hadn’t destroyed the entire house, thankfully. And now that they’d moved back, Jordan hoped they’d both appreciate the improvements without too many memories of the night that made the changes necessary.

  She stopped by her dad’s wheelchair and gave him a hug on her way to the coffee.

  He’d wheeled up to the new table to have breakfast and read the paper. He looked at her over the readers resting at the end of his nose. “Morning, Freckles. You’re up early. Got a big day before work?”

  They seldom had a chance to see each other anymore. He’d been supervising the renovations to their house for the past few weeks and it seemed to be helping him become more mobile lately. She worked so much, and kept odd hours, a passing coffee in the morning was about the extent of their relationship lately.

  She plopped a bagel in the toaster. “I’m meeting Claire and Sal at the Plant soccer game at noon.”

  He frowned briefly when she mentioned Sal. He blamed Sal for the bomb that had destroyed their kitchen, which was fair. Her dad didn’t appreciate Sal’s business associates’ persuasive tactics. At all. But Sal took responsibility for the damage. He’d paid for the renovations. He even provided an all-expense-paid place for them to live while the work was being done.

  Jordan was about to chide him for being unforgiving, but then he lightened up. He grinned at her and teased. “When did you develop an interest in soccer?”

  She’d slathered jam on the bagel and joined him at the breakfast table.

  “Since never,” she answered around the hot bagel in her mouth. “It’s work for me. Fun for them.”

  “What’s the work part?” her dad asked. He enjoyed hearing about her job, partly because he’d been home since his stroke and he missed working. He was hoping to return to the high school as principal again, and she wanted that for him, too.

  Jordan had spent every spare minute on her assignment problem, but had come up with nothing good enough to avoid Instant Pop Star. Everything she’d thought of was too short. Her proposed assignment had to consume the same number of days as IPS. More importantly, she needed an idea that Richard would not only be content with, but thrilled about. Otherwise her pitch would seem like what it was, a cheap attempt to get out of Instant Pop Star.

  Richard wasn’t an idiot. Not even close. He’d see through something like that in a hot second.

  And even if he didn’t, Patricia was there to shoot holes in anything Jordan pitched. She’d never get past the pitch unless the new assignment was exponentially better than IPS in every way.

  “I’ve got to meet this woman who could be a potential human interest story. She’s singing at the game,” Jordan said. “So when Claire called and invited me to go, I figured I might see her for a while and meet the woman, too. Multi-tasking, right?”

  Jordan had to intentionally make time for friends—unlike Drew, who was a friend magnet. Jordan could be such a loner if left t
o her own devices, mainly because she really preferred work to play. Or maybe she’d been so focused on her mission for so many years that she couldn’t let go long enough to play. Either way, she hadn’t seen much of Claire since everything happened with the drug cartel and Sal’s business. Jordan was feeling guilty about that, too.

  The game was at noon, and Plant University sat across the street from Channel l2. The soccer match should wrap up just in time for Jordan to dash across the street and get to work.

  Besides, Claire’s vehemently free spirit encouraged Jordan to let loose and think way outside the box. Too far outside, sometimes. Might help with her pitch idea today, she hoped.

  “What’s her name?” her dad asked, jolting Jordan from her thoughts. “The singer?”

  She met his gaze. He actually looked happy right now. When was the last time she’d seen him content? “Dominique Wren.”

  “I’ve heard of her.” He smiled. “You’re in for a treat.”

  “You have?”

  “She’s been performing around town. One of my therapists mentioned her the other day. He said she was really good. I guess she’s auditioning for that Instant Pop Star show. He says she’s good enough to win the whole deal. Let me know what you think of her. If she makes it, I might just watch the show.”

  Jordan shook her head, drained her coffee and stood. “Well, aren’t you in the know? I’m glad you’re not an intern at Channel 12. I’d never keep up with you.”

  He laughed and held up his coffee cup so she could refill it. “Hard to outrun Nelson Fox on Wheels.”

  “You bet it is.” She laughed, too, feeling better about him than she had since their home was destroyed. Being back in his own home was helping him, too. No nightmares. No walking on eggshells to avoid the bad memories. They wouldn’t have to move after their peace was destroyed by violence, as they’d done after her mother was killed. They were going to be okay here.

  She refilled his coffee, put breakfast dishes in the dishwasher and hugged him again before she left him, still reading his paper.

  Everything in South Tampa was close to everything else so it didn’t take Jordan long to reach Plant University’s soccer field. On the short drive, she thought about the mess Claire was in with her boyfriend, Salvador. The contentment she felt about her dad didn’t extend to Claire’s situation. Not even a little bit.

  CHAPTER 5

  Jordan was an only child, but she was so close to Claire that she considered Claire the sister she’d never had. She was as protective of Claire as a sister would be, for sure. When Jordan’s mother died and her dad’s disabling stroke dealt her a double blow, Jordan had learned who her real friends were. The ones she could count on. The ones who didn’t believe Nelson Fox had killed his wife. There weren’t many keepers. She’d thought, once upon a time, that her ex-fiancé was one. A keeper. She’d been wrong. Nelson Fox and Claire Stone were the only two who had never let Jordan down. She would never, ever do less for Claire.

  Claire had been dating Salvador Caster for about four months now. She’d seemed so happy that, at first, Jordan had simply felt happy for her friend. They’d spent most of their first few months alone together, as new couples tend to do.

  But once Jordan started to know him, several things about Salvador Caster had come to light that she didn’t like. At all. Such as the ongoing investigation into his company’s ties with a drug cartel, which was probably going to result in criminal charges against Sal. He was being questioned about exactly what he knew and when he knew it. He’d hired a top-notch lawyer. But Jordan’s gut said he wouldn’t be a free man much longer.

  Claire would never be able to deal with that.

  Judging from the look on her dad’s face every time Sal’s name came up, he was feeling concerns, too, and he didn’t know the half of it.

  The problem was how to deal with Sal and not ruin her friendship with Claire. Like the alternative assignment, this was a problem Jordan hadn’t yet managed to solve.

  She shrugged, parked in the Plant U lot, locked Hermes and rushed to find them.

  Claire waved and Jordan saw them in the stands. She covered her mouth to avoid laughing out loud. One of the most successful business owners in Tampa was decked out garishly in black and gold from head to toe. Black socks, gold soccer shorts, a black jersey, and a hat with black and gold stripes. He looked ridiculous. Still drop dead gorgeous, of course. Jordan had no problem understanding what attracted Claire to the guy.

  “Wow.” Jordan dropped down next to Claire. “I can’t imagine which team you’re rooting for. No black and gold pompoms?”

  “My alma mater, baby! Woo!” Sal cheered. And the game hadn’t even started yet.

  Sal’s enthusiasm seemed especially inappropriate after what happened to his former high school soccer coach and everything that followed.

  “Guess he’s gotten over the whole cartel thing,” Jordan whispered to Claire.

  Before Claire could respond, Sal leaned over and scowled at Jordan.

  “Sorry,” Jordan said. “Guess we are still touchy on that subject.”

  Sal retreated back in his seat. The whistle blew and the game started.

  “You’re a little confrontational today,” Claire said gently to Jordan. “Everything okay?”

  “Yeah, sorry.” Jordan realized repressed anger toward Sal was probably surfacing. He’d already apologized to her a hundred times. And he’d paid to renovate her house. But she was worried about Claire, too. She’d try to chill out, although she hadn’t been successful at that lately, either.

  Jordan crinkled her brow and leaned back toward Sal. “But seriously,” she lowered her voice, “you know all of that isn’t settled, right? You’re still being watched. You need to be careful.”

  Sal leaned forward again. “This is a college soccer match, Jordan,” he said, cold anger coming through in every quiet word. “Lay off.”

  Jordan felt he’d just proved her point, but she didn’t say so. She squinted at Sal. What was with his amped up emotions? As long as she’d known him, he’d always held a cool demeanor. The agitation could be nothing. Or it could be a cover for something more.

  Jordan turned to Claire who raised her eyebrows and shrugged, as if to acknowledge she didn’t understand Sal, either.

  “I saw that,” Sal said, without looking away from the field.

  Jordan should just sit back and enjoy the game. She was restless and confrontational and her behavior wasn’t helping anyone. She should shut up and respect Salvador’s love of the game. She’d already done as much as she could to help him. She’d done too much, her dad and others had warned her.

  The Plant University goalie missed a shot and the Winter Park Whitecaps scored. Sal shot up onto his feet and screamed at the field. “Get your head in the game! Come on, man! Get your freakin’ act together!” He let out a big huff and sat down.

  Jordan really shouldn’t say anything. But she felt the words coming. And she couldn’t stop them. “Hey Sal, give him a break. He gave it a good effort.”

  He turned to her, his face bright red. “He didn’t give it a ‘good effort’, Jordan! He’s playing half-heartedly out there. You have to play with attention. You have to play with initiative and own the field.”

  Jordan flinched, like he’d slapped her, hard. What was wrong with him? “I’m worried about you. I know sometimes when people are this intense, it’s a result of something other than being passionate about soccer. I wonder if you’re telling the goalie to play with attention because you wished you’d played recent events that way yourself.”

  Sal gritted his teeth and balled his fists. “You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about. I’ve always been this passionate about soccer. Don’t play junior psychologist with me, Jordan. You’re the one with dead mother issues, not me.”

  She sat up on the edge of her seat. “Don’t ever talk about my mom’s death. You have no idea what happened or what it was like. My mother was murdered.”

  Sal move
d to the edge of his seat, too. Jordan thought he might actually come straight at her. Claire grabbed Sal’s forearm with both hands and restrained him in a gesture so automatic that Jordan felt sure she’d done it many times before.

  Sal dropped his arm and leaned toward Jordan. He spoke at normal volume. “You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about. Go do your own thing, Jordan. My debt to you is paid in full. I owe you nothing.”

  Paid in full? Seriously? If not for Jordan, Salvador Caster would be dead or in prison right this minute. She had solved two murders and brought down a blackmailing drug dealer, simply because she loved Claire and Sal was too weak to protect her. Both Jordan and her dad were almost blown to smithereens for her efforts. And Sal owed her nothing?

  “That’s the difference between you and me, Sal,” Jordan said. “You’re a trust-fund baby. You think everybody owes you. Everything’s been handed to you your whole life. But everything I want, I have to work for. Even justice.” Jordan kicked the bleacher in front of her with the toe of her sneaker, and it hurt.

  Claire put her arm around Salvador and leaned into him.

  Jordan grabbed her sling bag and stormed off.

  She paced behind the bleachers. Who did that guy think he was, anyway? She’d saved his ass less than a month ago and he talked to her like that?

  After a few minutes of pacing and fuming, she ran out of fuel for her outrage. She stopped pacing and leaned against the bleacher frame. Just admit it. You’re crushed.

  Not because Sal hurt her feelings. If she were that sensitive, she’d never survive as a reporter.

  Because Claire took Salvador’s side. Claire had always, always been Jordan’s solid supporter, through some very bad times. But just now, Claire chose her boyfriend. Sal had taken Jordan’s place. She never saw that coming and it hurt.