“Where’s my lawyer?” Jordan asked.
“Held up,” Holly replied.
“Right. He was held up again. Did someone steal his car? Or maybe abducted by aliens? No, wait, I know, he just realized he can’t represent a heinous criminal mastermind like me.”
“Keep it up, chuckles. You’re just burying yourself.” She penned some notes into her file and then finally looked up at Jordan.
“Think what you want about me, detective. I know my past is screwed up. I know how it’s impossible to explain something so inexplicable. I’ve wished to God a million times that I’d never see another person die. But I swear to you I’ve never killed anything. I hate blood. I don’t even like rare beef. I have no friends except for a cat. I live as much out of the public eye as I can, because I don’t want to see anyone die. You think that FBI file makes me some sort of lunatic or sadist or worse, a murderer. Well, it doesn’t. It makes me a freak of nature, but trust me, it’s not by choice.”
She looked at him through narrowed eyes, the same eyes. But, then something in them softened, widened. “So you expect me to believe it’s all just some random coincidence? That you’ve been in the area by chance to witness these deaths? You want me to just assume the blacked-out part of your FBI file is just innocent stuff they won’t even let the police see?”
Jordan rubbed his eyes. “I don’t know why I have a file with the FBI. That’s as freaky to me as it is to you. But if I had to guess, there was a cop in West Orange that probably tipped them off to me. I don t know. He was suspicious. People get suspicious.”
“Don’t you think they should?” She shrugged.
“They absolutely should. I would. I live it, and I still don’t believe it. Think about it, how many people were at the bank? Do they think I somehow orchestrated that? Just so I could watch some guy blow away two innocent people?”
“No, I suppose not. But we found blood in your house, on your clothes in the hamper, and a body in the woods a quarter mile from your house. You have to admit, Jordan, c’mon, it looks pretty bad.”
Jordan put his face into his hands and then ran his hands through his hair. “Yeah, I know.”
Just then, the door opened and an older man looked in. “A word, detective.” The man motioned with his head.
Jordan glanced at his watch and sighed. They said they could hold him legally for forty-eight hours before officially charging him. It seemed ridiculous. Innocent until proven guilty meant nothing in America anymore.
The door swung inward, and the pretty detective walked back in and stood in the doorway.
“You’re free to go, Mr. Callahan.” She walked over to him and undid the cuffs on his ankle.
Jordan was surprised. “Change of heart?”
“You’re lawyer got you out of here for now,” she said. “But we’ll be in touch.”
Jordan stood up and stretched his tight legs. “You’re going to miss me.”
“The body we found is not your girl. Wrong blood type. And without a body, you’re probably going to get away with it.” She moved in closer to Jordan to block his path.
“You’re not going to try and kiss me, are you?” Jordan joked.
“I’m going to be watching you.” Her voice was now just above a whisper. “If you did this, I’m going to burn you down. And I’m going to be watching you for the mistake. You’ll make a mistake. They all do.”
Jordan looked away from her icy glare and took a deep breath. “Following me would be a huge waste of time, a serious waste of tax paying dollars. But go ahead. I’m not staying around here anyway. I’m not booked. I don’t have to stay.”
Jordan walked past her and moved toward the door. He would find Stormy and get the hell out of this town. He was three straws past the proverbial last straw.
As he was about to walk through the door, he stopped. “My lawyer?” he said back to the detective, “you said my lawyer got me out. What lawyer?”
“Your lawyer showed up. She’s right outside.”
Jordan entered the hallway, and to the right stood a woman he did not recognize, at first.
“Mr. Callahan, I’m your lawyer, Patricia Birch. They can’t charge you with anything. We’re leaving.” She turned and walked.
Jordan followed, glancing back at the detective with a nod. He continued following the woman outside into the night. He said nothing. She walked up to a black Ford Explorer, and he got into the passenger side.
“You mind telling me what the hell is going on?” Jordan asked as his fingers wrapped around the handle and pulled the door shut.
She said nothing, didn’t even acknowledge his question. Kayci started the Explorer and casually drove out toward the highway.
“The black wig is a nice touch, but you look hotter as a blonde. I knew you weren’t dead. Is there any reason you let me sit in jail for your murder?”
“I need your help.” Kayci navigated the SUV through traffic toward the ramp of Route 81.
“You need my help? Oh, okay, that’s one option. But there’s another option too. How about you take me home and get the hell away from me instead?”
“I can’t do that.”
“What does that mean? You can’t do what?”
“I can’t let you.”
“Bullshit. You’re taking me home. I’m packing my stuff and getting out of this town.” Jordan was defiant.
“You can’t leave town. I negotiated your release with the DA on grounds that you wouldn’t leave town. You’re still a person of interest in a murder.”
“Are you kidding me? Are you sniffing glue? It’s your murder! You’re not dead! You’re not even a lawyer.” Jordan was angrier than he liked to get. He didn’t usually raise his voice, but she made him furious. “Now take me home or I’m going back to the police station and turning your ass in for impersonating a lawyer.”
“Calm down, just listen. I need your help to stay dead.” She glanced away from the road to meet his eyes.
He saw for the first time a sign of vulnerability that he had not seen the first night he’d met her. “Go on and I want the whole story. No NSA bullshit. Who in hell are you and what is this all about?”
“I didn’t lie to you. I did work for the government, a small, secret group that was part of the NSA umbrella just as I said. We were domestic operatives that did…” she stopped herself short, “…well, it does not matter what we did. We did what needed to be done. But that’s irrelevant. What’s relevant is that my former team wants me dead.”
The Explorer eased off the highway and onto one of the dark, winding county routes that led to Jordan’s house.
“I thought you refused to take me home?” Jordan asked as she turned the SUV into the dead end.
“No, I refused to let you leave town.” She pulled the Explorer into the space in front of Jordan’s porch and shut off the ignition. “Pack your things and then we’ll talk. This place may not be safe anymore, but I’ve secured a new place.”
When Jordan’s feet hit the familiar slate slabs of his walkway, he saw Stormy standing on the porch waiting. In all his satin black glory, Stormy humped his back up and rubbed his face into the edge of the pillar of the porch support. Then in a flash, the cat leaped off the rail and down to Jordan’s feet. “Hey, buddy.” Jordan petted the cat for a second and then casually walked toward the front door.
Stormy went on in his usual chatter but with an urgency Jordan wasn’t used to hearing. The cat had a lot to say. “I know, Stormy,” Jordan listened as the cat kept mewing and growling. “It was a rough day for me too.”
“He’s very vocal.” Kayci walked up behind Jordan and stepped in stride with him up the steps and to the door.
“He’s usually not this bad.” Jordan turned the knob on the unlocked door, and the three of them went inside.
“How quickly can you pack?” Kayci asked, looking around the house.
“About a half hour” Jordan threw his keys on the table. “I move a lot.”
“Well, t
hen, it will be easy to fit everything into the Explorer.”
“I’m not leaving my vehicle.”
“The police still have it.”
“Then I’m going to get it.” Jordan walked into the bedroom and back out in a few seconds with a pile of clothes that he threw on the chair in the living room. From the closet, he pulled out a large green Army-issue bag. He was never in the Army, but the bag had proved to be all the luggage he’d ever needed. It easily fit all his clothes with the exception of his heavy winter coat that he would just tie to the outside of the bag.
“So tell me again why I should help you.” Jordan rolled and then stuffed his clothes into the bag. Rolling the clothes was a trick he learned from the man who gave him the Army bag. When he lived in Florida, he had a neighbor who was a retired Army officer. Gordon Combs showed him how to shoot a gun and how to pack like a soldier. So far, only the packing had come in handy.
“You should help me, because you’ll be saving my life.”
“Didn’t I already do that once?”
“Look at this as an extension of that original help.”
“An open-ended arrangement. I dunno. I gotta be honest here. It sounds like you’re taking advantage of me.”
“Jordan, I know. It’s a lot to ask. And I’m sorry I—”
He cut her off, “You called the cops.”
Her face reacted in surprise. “What?”
“You called the cops.”
“I’m not following.”
“Bullshit. You were the neighbor that heard the screaming. You set me up for your murder all along. Why didn’t I think of that until now? Boy, I’m an idiot.” Jordan tossed down the sweatshirt in his hands. He was mad at himself for not seeing it right away.
“I can explain that,” Kayci replied.
“You needed a sucker and you found one. Is that about right? Did you plan this all along? How could I have been so stupid? I thought you just took advantage of a situation, but you created it. Of course, you did. This was no coincidence.”
“I didn’t plan anything. It just sort of presented itself.”
“Get the hell out of my house.” Jordan felt his lips tighten, holding back the stream of obscenities that wanted to lash out at her.
“I can’t do that.”
“Don’t you get it? I’m not helping you. Thanks to you, a couple of detectives are going to be watching everything I do, trying their damnedest to link me to a murder…your murder. The simple fact that I’m not telling them you’re alive is all the help you’re getting from me.”
“I know it was wrong. But I had no choice.”
“There’s always a choice. You made yours, now I’ve made mine. Get back into your truck and drive the hell away from here. I have enough problems without you screwing up my already screwed up life.”
“But, Jordan, you might be in danger.”
“I’m in danger being around you!” He tossed more clothes into the bag. “You’re the one I need to watch out for.”
“I’m serious. These men are going to—”
He interrupted her, “Get out! I’m not interested in any of this. I can take care of myself. And if I’m not tied to you I’m safer.”
“But you’re already tied to me, don’t you get that? They’re—”
“Get out!” he interrupted her again, pointing to the door. “Take your NSA bullshit and get out.”
She stood there looking at Jordan for maybe twenty seconds, but it felt like an hour. Then, with a nod, she turned away and left the house.
He slammed and locked the door behind her. With a burst of frustration, he punched the door hard enough to cut his knuckle. She infuriated him.
Jordan finished packing his clothes. He didn’t care if he was not supposed to leave town. He was leaving. When he went to his bedroom to retrieve his lockbox, the lightness of the small metal container concerned him. Opening it up he saw what he feared. His money was gone.
Chapter Fifteen
Jordan glared at the empty lock box on the coffee table. He couldn’t believe how stupid he was. She’d played him like a fool.
Unfortunately, this was not the first time someone had robbed him. Once when he lived in Orange Grove, Texas, he’d seen a teenage girl throw herself in front of a car. He realized what she was going to do and tried to stop her, but as usual, he was too late.
After the car struck and killed her, some ignorant asshole yelled, “He pushed her!” and pointed at Jordan. A witness confirmed Jordan hadn’t pushed the girl. She was on suicide mission and didn’t fail. Despite his innocence, the girl’s friends followed him home, beat the hell out of him, and stole the money he had stashed in the cookie jar on the counter of his apartment. They got around five hundred dollars and a diamond ring. But Kayci Dewitt, NSA agent and liar extraordinaire, had gotten him for just over two thousand bucks.
He cursed himself for not putting it into the bank, but he really didn’t use banks much. He kept a few hundred in the bank and the rest in cash, just in case he had to skip town in a pinch. He still had about three hundred in his savings account back in New Jersey, but that wouldn’t get him too far.
Maybe with some luck he could get his deposit back from the landlord. That would be his first order of business. He could just go back to New Jersey for a while and stay with his mother. It was the cheapest option, and he had enough to buy the gas.
He finished packing his clothes and stuffed the rest of his belongings into two backpacks. He would leave the plants and Stormy’s tall cat tower. It was far too big to take, and he could always build another.
He was about to head out the door to start packing the truck, but he realized he had no vehicle. He cursed himself for not thinking things through. Never in his life had he hit a girl, nor would he. But, right now, he wanted to kick that NSA cutie in the ass cheek. She was the most infuriating woman he’d ever met. How could she be so cute and so cunning at the same time?
Suddenly he felt dizzy. Maybe it was the lack of food, but his head felt light. He took a few deep breaths until his vertigo went away.
He dug his hand into the front pocket of his jeans, fished out his cell, and called the only person in the area he knew.
“Larry, it’s Jordan, I need a favor.” He waited for a reply.
“What’s up?” Larry enthusiastically voiced.
“I need a ride.”
After negotiating the cost, Jordan pushed the phone back in his pocket and started packing up Stormy’s things in a black plastic bag.
Larry was happy to give him a ride for the cost of one SK Tools quarter-inch socket set. Larry was a person who would do anything for the right price. It didn’t have to be money. In fact, he preferred things: goods, car parts, tools. He’d previously admired Jordan’s socket set and had wanted to buy it.
Jordan did his second pass through the house, making sure he wasn’t leaving anything behind. The knock on the door came quicker than expected. He walked to the door and nodded to Larry through the glass as he twisted the knob.
“Oh-yeah!” Larry said as he stepped into the house. “I’m gonna love me that socket set.” Larry was short, stocky, and balding to a scary degree for being only twenty-five. He was a sloppy mechanic who did shoddy work, but he got by.
“I’m sure you will.” Jordan closed the door.
“I love that little case. I can’t believe you caved, sucker-ass, I was starting high. I woulda done it for that pair of Snap-On screwdrivers.” Larry stuffed his hands into his pockets nervously.
“Well, I’m desperate. I need to get my car out of impound.”
“Impound?” Larry always talked too loudly, like he was hoping people in other rooms would hear him. “What the hell did you do? You get towed? DWI? Were you drunk?”
“It’s a long story. I’ll tell you on the way over.” Jordan took his spare keys off the wall. He would have to come back here for his things. Larry had a small pickup truck with no bed, only a flat, wooden frame.
“Oh, man,”
Larry said. “You know that hottie with the yellow Mustang? She was in the shop again asking about you. You need to tap that shit, man. She’s all over you, JC.”
“I think she’s married.”
Larry waved his hand dismissively. “Who cares? Did you see the ass on her? Goddamn, she’s hot. I’d like to get me some of that. I’d hit that shit if she was married to my brother.”
“That’s low, Larry, even for you.”
“Ah, screw it, you’re crazy. She’s like the hottest chick I’ve ever seen, and she wants you. Her husband is like a hundred. You could totally get in there. You’d be dumb not to.”
“I’m not that smart.” Jordan held the door open for Larry. “I’ll be back soon,” he said to Stormy, but the cat was deep in his dinner and did not respond.
“You talk to your cat?” Larry asked as they clomped down the wooden steps towards the driveway.
“Why not? He talks to me.”
Jordan heard a wet thump and then saw Larry’s head snap back as he fell straight to the ground.
What had happened didn’t register at first. Jordan initially thought Larry was playing or had been hit with some sort of falling debris from the tall oak trees towering above. But when he saw the blood and heard the shuffling feet coming from out of the night, it all became clear.
Two men sped up to him in a flash. Jordan felt wetness cover his face. He felt his breath suck away and his legs go limp. Then he blacked out.
Chapter Sixteen
Jordan’s eyes swam in and out of focus. Groggy had a completely new meaning as he blinked hard. He stretched his jaw. It ached, and his ribs were sore. Instinct told him to move but he could not budge. Someone had tied him to a chair with some sort of rubber straps. He rolled his eyes until the scene cleared and a seedy commonplace motel room became apparent.
Two men were in the pale yellow room, one on the bed flipping through a magazine, the other sitting at the small desk clicking on a laptop. They were both dressed in tactical gear, all black, including the combat boots.
As Jordan shook out the cobwebs, he did not recall anything until the vision of Larry dropping to the ground returned. A pang of guilt hit him. He had gotten Larry killed. For the first time in his life, he felt like a death was his fault.
Savior Frequency (Frequency Series Book 1) Page 6
