False Truth 8-10: 3 Action-Packed Romantic Detective Mystery Thrillers To Keep You Up All Night (Jordan Fox Mysteries Series)

by Diane Capri

  “Their boss is on the way, too.” Chills raced up Jordan’s spine.

  “Their boss?”

  “They communicated a few times.” Jordan cleared her throat. Her eyes were still stinging, but breathing was easier. “I got the impression these guys were afraid of the boss.”

  The officer moved away and muttered something into his walkie-talkie as FBI Agents Hunt and Ryser approached.

  Jordan said, “I know it doesn’t look like it, but I stopped following the drone story after we talked.”

  “We know.” Agent Hunt nodded and clasped his hands behind his back. “And that’s why we were able to do our job.”

  Jordan reached out to the arresting officer. “Any chance I could head over to the news station now? I’m an intern at Channel 12 and I’d like to report on this.”

  “No.” Agent Hunt shook his head. “We need to make our arrests before the media gets involved. And there’s still three of these guys at large. You want us to find them, don’t you?”

  “You know the media can hear the activity on the scanners.” She was aware she was stating the obvious, but she was desperate to resume her work as a journalist. It felt safer to take the role of reporter rather than the role of witness. A way of taking back control.

  Agent Hunt’s patience was exhausted. “If they figure out what’s going on, I can’t prevent that. But I’m not about to help the media impair our investigation.”

  Jordan tapped her foot. What he said made sense. But if she didn’t give Channel 12 a heads up, other stations would report the chase first, which simply could not happen.

  Jordan stared directly into Agent Hunt’s eyes. Straight up. No nonsense, she said, “I understand.”

  Which she did. What she didn’t do was promise to keep the story a secret. She’d wait as long as she could but no longer.

  She was hungry, sleepy, thirsty, and scared. Her entire body was battered and sore. Her lungs hurt and her eyes felt like they’d been washed out with acid. No one wanted these guys caught and locked up forever more than Jordan did.

  But more than any of that, she wanted a leading role when Channel 12 reported this story and scooped the competition—ASAP.

  CHAPTER 26

  Jordan and Keith watched the police chase Emilio’s motorcycle on the transmitter. The first moments of dawn appeared from the drone’s view over Centro Tampa.

  Her dad would be waking up soon. He’d be beyond concerned if he found her still gone. She texted Nelson from Keith’s phone: My phone is out of battery but I’m okay. I’m helping police. Details later. Love, Freckles.

  Hopefully that would reassure him enough for now. It was the best she could do.

  Meanwhile, crime scene and forensics personnel had begun the tedious task of processing the cigar warehouse building for evidence.

  Jordan eyed the parking lot, which was filled with police cruisers, FBI vehicles, Keith’s red sedan, and the white van used to kidnap Jordan and transport her here.

  She scanned the swarm of personnel, not actively hoping Clayton would show up, but thinking it might be nice to see him if he happened to be there. Stop it. You don’t need him.

  She turned her gaze back to The Fly’s transmitter.

  “Police are catching up with the guys on the bike,” Keith said. “There are more cops now. They’re gonna try to block them.”

  The motorcycle was faster, more agile, and more brazen than the police cars chasing it.

  “They gotta call it off if the chase gets too dangerous,” one officer said. “Morning traffic will start before too long. We can’t endanger commuters.”

  The middle of Jordan’s forehead throbbed. The last thing she wanted was to put ordinary commuters in the path of a high speed chase.

  The aerial image, lit by streetlights near the interstate now, showed the motorcycle making a sharp turn onto a side street with a line of police cruisers in hot pursuit, lights flashing, and sirens blasting.

  The motorcycle turned too sharply, and skidded on its side, sliding almost a full city block before it crashed into a huge oak tree. Half a second later, the wreckage went up in flames.

  Keith clapped a hand to his mouth.

  Jordan cringed and forced her eyes closed. They popped open again. She didn’t want to watch, and yet she did.

  The bike had contorted and twisted on impact with the big tree, as did Emilio’s body. It was unlikely either he or Victor had survived. The crash was too far away to hear sirens, but she knew they’d be on the way almost immediately. Maybe the paramedics could work miracles.

  One police officer pointed to the triple-monitor drone transmitter. “We gotta get ourselves one of these.”

  “Police aren’t allowed to use drones in Florida, smart guy,” an older officer fired back.

  Jordan raised her hand. “Except in some cases including but not limited to forestalling the imminent escape of a suspect.”

  Two officers raised their eyebrows and nodded. “Not bad for a rookie.”

  She grinned. “I’ve done my research.”

  It was time to stop showing off and start getting down to business. “Would it be okay for me to call Channel 12 now?” she asked the FBI agents.

  Agent Hunt and Agent Ryser looked at each other.

  “Let her do her thing,” Agent Ryser said. “After that crash, the story will be all over the news anyway.”

  Jordan punched the direct number to the Assignment Desk line into Keith’s phone before the agents had even finished arguing.

  CHAPTER 27

  “You’re the kidnapping victim?” Richard asked.

  Even over the phone, Jordan heard the disbelief in his tone.

  “Not a victim. Survivor,” Jordan said. “I’m a mess. I’m on my way home to get a shower and then I’ll be there to cover the story.”

  “Jordan, it’s seven o’clock in the morning and from what I’ve heard, I can’t imagine you’ve slept. We’ve got this.” Richard softened his order a bit. “That’s the beauty of running an around-the-clock operation. You’ve got a team here. Get some rest.”

  Jordan was so frustrated she could cry. Which proved Richard’s point. “You’re probably right.”

  “Jordan?”

  “Hm?”

  “Were there any other—er—survivors?”

  “I was the only one taken.”

  “Then your exclusive is safe.” He knew what she was worried about. He was a newsman to his very bones. “No one can take that from you. All right?”

  She smiled even though he couldn’t see her expression. “Right.”

  “Assuming you don’t tell another station,” he teased.

  Jordan thought she might actually hear affection in his voice. She could sure use all the allies she could get for The Great Competition. “That would be career suicide.”

  He snorted. “Yeah, well, based on the situations you get yourself into…”

  Keith was packing up The Fly as Jordan hung up. “I take it you need a ride?” he said.

  Agent Lincoln Hunt stepped in. “Actually, ma’am, we’re gonna need you to come with us.”

  Not again. If I can’t work, I should at least get to go home to bed.

  CHAPTER 28

  “No worries, ma’am,” Agent Ryser said. “We need to debrief you on the case before you can go home. Do you feel you need immediate medical attention?”

  Jordan was exhausted and bruised all over, but she’d be okay. “Maybe a snack and some water?”

  “We can handle that.” The two FBI agents took the front seat. Agent Ryser drove, which meant Agent Hunt was in charge, as Jordan had suspected.

  From the back seat, Jordan asked a question that had been bothering her since they’d rolled up at the scene. “Just curious, but how did you find me at the warehouse? Was it the drone report to Tampa P.D.?”

  “We weren’t there for you. We came for Hugo Diaz and his crew,” Agent Hunt said. “Finding you was a bonus.”

  “Ookkaayy. Then how did you know
Hugo was there?” Getting information out of this guy was like pulling teeth from one of those chickens that squawked her awake every morning in Haiti.

  “The drone club leader. Calhoun. He knew a lot more than he let on.” Agent Hunt’s tone was final. Jordan wouldn’t get anything more from him on that score right now.

  She changed course. “Have you got a background check on Hugo and the others yet?”

  Ryser and Hunt exchanged looks. Ryser said, “Hugo Diaz has no background. The name’s an alias.”

  Agent Hunt said, “We’re working on it.”

  Downtown in the same bare room in the same big building as before, Agent Ryser poured a pile of Goldfish crackers onto a paper towel for Jordan and took her seat across the table. Agent Hunt sat next to Ryser.

  Jordan told the agents every detail she could remember. When she finished, Agent Hunt asked, “Why did they kidnap you, specifically?”

  “I’m not sure. They didn’t say. But I think they had orders from their boss,” Jordan replied. “And I think it had something to do with you, too. Because I told you they said they knew I’d met with you.”

  Agent Hunt watched her for a bit and finally nodded. “Did you find out the boss’s name?”

  Jordan shook her head.

  Agent Ryser said, “Thanks for being so observant about everything, Ms. Fox. Do you need a ride home?”

  She shook her head. How could these two possibly be so clueless? “Are you kidding? I want to know what you found out about everything I told you the last time I was here.”

  Ryser smiled. Hunt’s look could best be called “pained.” But he was the lead agent, so he did the talking. “Hugo Diaz and his crew are part of the El Pulpo cartel. They targeted Dennis Raine because of his work against them inside the DEA.”

  She nodded and ate the goldfish and drank the juice while he talked.

  “El Pulpo was beginning to implement a new extortion scheme. They planned to target foreign airline companies and corporations with key individuals engaged in airline travel.”

  She’d already figured most of this stuff out during her phone call with Keith a million years ago. Nice to have her conclusions validated by the FBI, though.

  Agent Hunt kept talking. “They planned to send untraceable emails from foreign countries not monitored by the FBI to demand the ransom.”

  “Really?” Jordan’s ears perked up. That was a new fact she hadn’t uncovered. Also more sophisticated than she’d have given Hugo and crew credit for. They hadn’t seemed that clever to her. “How would they collect the money?”

  Agent Hunt nodded as if Jordan was a particularly apt pupil to spot the biggest issue. “El Pulpo had set up an untraceable online wallet for the deposits.”

  Jordan sat straighter in the chair and put the juice down. “If it’s untraceable, how did you find out about it?”

  “We’re smarter than the average criminal,” Agent Ryser grinned.

  Agent Hunt sighed as if Ryser’s humor was painful. Ryser grinned again.

  “Actually, we have friends in the right places,” Hunt said. “Anyway, we know they were operating from an email address dubbed tragicrabbit. We’re still tracing the origins of that email address.”

  Jordan forced her tired brain to make a mental note of the weird name. “You’ll let me know when you find its origin, right?”

  Neither agent responded.

  She asked another question. She was a reporter. It’s what they do. “Well, one good thing. Now that you have Hugo Diaz in custody, you’ll have fingerprints and DNA and such. You’ll be able to find out who he really is, right?”

  No response.

  Okay. If that’s how you want to play it.

  Jordan kept the rest of her secrets to herself. For now.

  CHAPTER 29

  Agent Ryser drove Jordan home afterward. Poor little Hermes was still parked in a dirt lot near Jordan’s running route, but Jordan wasn’t alert enough to drive, even with an FBI escort. She’d let Claire help her retrieve Hermes later.

  Jordan thanked Agent Ryser for the ride, said she’d be in touch, and practically collapsed through her front door. Her dad was at his rehab appointment, so she didn’t need to deal with him right now. All of the explaining would happen later.

  Channel 12 must not have aired the story on the morning news. Not her role in it, anyway. Otherwise, he’d have been glued to the front door until she came home safely. For all Nelson knew, Jordan had been out clubbing all night and capped it off by somehow helping police.

  Jordan grabbed a bottle of water on her way through the kitchen. She flopped on the bed and fell asleep without taking a single sip and woke up after an hour that felt like four. She jumped into the shower, dressed, left her dad a quick note on the kitchen table and snagged his car keys on the way out the door.

  Jordan called Richard from her ancient personal phone on her way in to the station.

  She dreaded telling him she’d lost another company phone. That bit of news could wait. Keith Simpson might have some geeky magic left. Maybe he could actually get her phone back before she had to face that particular problem.

  “If you feel up to it, you can do a live shot from the newsroom,” Richard said.

  Excitement juiced her up better than a gallon of caffeine. This would be her first time live on air at Channel 12. “Really?”

  “We can have the midday anchors do a talkback with you and you can answer questions.”

  Yes! She kept a large bag of high-definition camera-worthy makeup in her locker at the station, just in case she ever got a chance to use it. Her dad would say, “You can never be too prepared, Freckles.”

  Jordan walked into the newsroom in a strange zombie-like daze. Maybe something like shock or PTSD was affecting? Who knows?

  A couple producers who Jordan didn’t know well clapped and cheered as she walked through the newsroom toward her locker.

  “Jordan, our hero!” one of them said. “You made it!”

  “You’re like freakin’ Batgirl,” another producer said.

  That was very possibly the best compliment she’d received in her career thus far.

  Jordan bowed theatrically. She collected her makeup bag from her locker and worked as much magic with her worn appearance as possible. HD cameras and televisions showed every little flaw. She dabbed extra concealer on the bags under her eyes, but the end result was far from fabulous. Ugh.

  Jordan stood in place in front of the camera in the newsroom and a photographer mic’ed her up. The noon news was two minutes away.

  “For now,” the producer spoke to her through her earpiece, “the anchors are going to talk to you as if you were a reporter at the scene this morning, okay? Richard wants to debrief you and talk to the News Director before we identify you as the kidnap victim.”

  Jordan nodded. She wiped her sweaty palms down the sides of her pants. The one-minute countdown ticked.

  You’re ready for this. There’s no question the anchors can ask that you won’t be able to answer better than anyone else in town. You’re the expert.

  She’d practiced live shots hundreds of times in school, too. Why didn’t that seem comforting right now?

  The Show Open rolled and the anchors introduced her story. Jordan’s heart pounded loudly in her ears and thumped her chest harder than ever. She dabbed away beads of sweat above her lip that would look like boulders in high definition.

  “Our own Jordan Fox was at the scene early this morning,” the male anchor, Graham White said. “Jordan, I understand the deadly chase this morning was related to a kidnapping overnight. Can you confirm that?”

  “That’s right, Graham,” she said in her best news reporter voice. “The kidnapping actually happened yesterday afternoon. The alleged abductors tried to escape from Centro Tampa this morning, where they were holding the woman captive in an abandoned cigar warehouse. It is now confirmed the chase ended in death for two suspects.”

  “Are there other suspects?”

  Jord
an wasn’t sure what the FBI would want to disclose until they caught The Boss. “Officials are not commenting on that right now.”

  “Can you tell us anything about why this woman was abducted? Was it for ransom?”

  Jordan suddenly felt the gravity of her situation in a way she hadn’t before. The past few days flashed through her mind in fast forward. The drone club. Smithers chasing her up the tree. Meeting with the retired air traffic controller. Gordo throwing her into the van and all that followed.

  She’d worked hard. Really hard.

  She could do this job. She was actually good at it.

  Someday, she’d be GREAT at it.

  If she won the competition with Drew Hodges and got the chance to be great at it.

  Her skin tingled all over. She felt hot. The sweat beads had returned and another one trickled from her scalp.

  Jordan opened her mouth to answer the question, but no words came out.

  Graham White rephrased. “Have police released any details at all about what the motive may have been?”

  Jordan swallowed the huge lump in her throat. Her tongue got stuck. She simply shook her head no.

  This was a disaster. What’s wrong with you?

  “No word on motive from police.” Graham White phrased her answer for her.

  “One more question, Jordan,” he said, clearly picking up that she was suddenly having a serious meltdown.

  Pull it together, Jordan.

  “I heard a drone was involved in the rescue efforts. Are you able to confirm that?”

  She dredged up some strength from somewhere and put all of it in her voice. “Graham, I have a feeling that sometime in the near future, Tampa Police might be looking into a drone for emergency situations like this one.”

  Wishy-washy and stupid, but hey, it came out at least.

  Graham White initiated her sign off. “Alright, Jordan Fox, thank you.”

  Jordan nodded politely until the monitors showed her off the air. Then she exhaled, took out her earpiece and microphone, and slumped into the first available chair. Her body shook all over. She felt hot. Then cold. What the hell was wrong with her?