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

by Diane Capri

  He tilted his head and gazed steadily into her face.

  “I mean, I wouldn’t say I have any leads. And I haven’t been canvassing our old neighborhood or anything. There’s just some stuff… I kind of happened upon at work.”

  Which was sort of true.

  He raised his eyebrows. “Do I want to know?”

  “Maybe not yet. Because it might be nothing. But it might be something. And there’s one idea I have about how I can find out.” Jordan placed a hand on his arm and squeezed. “I know we can’t bring Mom back, but we can bring the bad guys to justice.”

  His eyes looked like they might be welling up. Or maybe it was the way the lamp and the computer monitor illuminated his glasses. He coughed behind his hand. “What’s your idea?”

  She swallowed the lump in her throat. “I want to look at the case file.”

  He shook his head. “I don’t have a file. It’s locked up in some attorney’s office somewhere.”

  She crossed her legs and remained calm and composed. “I went to see that lawyer, Jenny Lane. And she said I can look at the file. I just need your signature.”

  “Unh-uh. No way. You do not need to get involved.” He crossed his arms. If he was close to crying before, he’d moved on. Now he was purely stubborn. “If there’s something specific you need to see, I’ll go to Ms. Lane’s office. I’ll look at it myself.”

  “Dad. Point A. That’s not healthy. You don’t need extra stress.”

  “Neither do you.”

  “Fair enough. Looking at that file won’t be easy for either one of us. I think we’re both adult enough to admit that. My point B is that I’m not sixteen years old anymore. I’m still your little girl, but I’m twenty-two. I’ve been engaged, handled a break-up, and landed a full-time job.” She didn’t mention all the dangerous things she’d survived since she took the Channel 12 job. That was a direction she didn’t want to lead him through. “I need to know what happened to Mom.”

  She pulled the consent form for the file out of her sling bag. “If you don’t sign this, I’m still not giving up. You know me.” She smiled gently and squeezed his arm again. “I’ll find another way to get the information. Clayton could get it for me.”

  She leaned in for emphasis and clasped his hands in hers. “I really want to see this file.”

  Nelson’s entire face quivered. But it was time for the real truth to come out. Long past time.

  “I think you’re right.” He bowed his head and sighed loudly. He licked his lips and met her eyes. “I’m not happy that you’ll see everything in that file. It’s very painful to look at the photos and everything else.”

  Jordan didn’t trust her voice just yet, so she hugged him.

  “Your mother would be proud of the adult you’ve become. She would trust your judgment.” His eyes glistened but his mouth turned upward somberly. “I don’t like this idea. But you have a right to see this file if you want to. She was your mother, after all. I’ll sign.”

  And he did.

  Jordan stood up and hugged him, hard. “You have no idea how much this means to me.” A tear rolled down her cheek. “Thank you for believing in me.”

  His eyes were glassy, too. He cleared his throat. “I need to tell you something else.”

  She squeezed his shoulder. “What is it, Dad? Everything’s okay. You can tell me anything.”

  He took a deep breath. The words rushed out as if he was afraid not to tell her the whole story all at once. “I know the password for your mother’s hard drive. I’ve always known it. I didn’t want us to deal with any of this. But if you’re planning to look at the file, you might as well have the hard drive’s password, too.”

  “What is it? The password?”

  He cleared his throat again and gazed steadily into her eyes. “IloveNelsonandJordan.”

  Jordan gave him a long, hard hug. She didn’t trust herself to speak.

  “You’re a lot braver than I am, Freckles. You always have been.” He patted her hand. “You’d better make that phone call if you’re going to make it to work on time.”

  Jordan went to her room and closed the door and called Jenny Lane’s office.

  “This is Jordan Fox. She’s probably expecting my call. I’d like to come in this afternoon, if possible. It will only take a moment.”

  “I’m sorry, ma’am. She’s all booked today.”

  “I don’t need to meet with her. Would you tell her Jordan Fox has Nelson’s signature? Ask her if I can come to pick up the file.”

  “She’s tied up right now in a deposition, but I’ll give her the message when she takes a break. She’s going to be busy all day today, I’m afraid.”

  “What about tomorrow morning, then?”

  “Unfortunately, the office is closed tomorrow for the weekend.”

  Jordan covered her face with her hands. She needed the file now. Before her dad changed his mind. The next best thing was to leave the house before he could change his mind and get back to her mom’s hard drive at the mansion.

  CHAPTER 16

  Jordan walked outside to the mansion’s pool to stretch. Clear her mind. Look out over the Bay. She stretched her arms above her head and dipped a single toe in the pool. Way too cold for a swim.

  Using the password, she had opened her mom’s hard drive almost instantly. But it contained so many files that the task of finding anything useful overwhelmed her. The searching possibilities seemed as broad as the horizon.

  You’re closer than you’ve ever been before, closer than you think.

  It was true. She should have figured out her mother’s password. It was simple. But everything is simple once you know it.

  Jordan had located Brenda’s calendar on the hard drive. She’d focused on that final day. December 4th, 2009.

  Finish semester paperwork

  Jordan’s swim practice 4-6

  Nelson meeting 4:30

  Dinner: Sunshine Salmon 7:00 Sharp!

  Jordan smiled. Her mother’s cooking habits were a family joke. Jordan and her dad preferred plain food, but her mom craved variety. Sunshine Salmon sounded exactly like a recipe she’d have found in a magazine and planned to try.

  One note on Brenda Fox’s calendar for that day said Talk to Chelsey.

  Dr. Chelsey Ross, probably. One of Brenda’s closest friends. When Jordan was in Haiti with Dr. Ross, she’d said Brenda called about a health question or something like that. Jordan couldn’t remember exactly.

  But her mom’s calendar confirmed some sort of connection had been planned. A connection that never happened.

  One thing she’d noticed was how narrow the window of opportunity had been for Brenda’s killer. Timing is everything.

  Brenda’s killer was lucky. A different day, a different time, Jordan’s mom might still be alive.

  Jordan and her dad had tortured themselves with so many ifs. If Jordan had come straight home instead of attending swim practice. If Nelson had come straight home after his school meeting.

  Now she added to the list, if Dr. Ross had been free to meet Brenda earlier instead of after work.

  Jordan rubbed her temples. “Dr. Ross said Mom called earlier in the day to set up the meeting. Something must have prompted her to make the call, maybe something she’d learned that very day. What did she want to talk about, anyway?”

  Nothing sprang into her head. She closed her eyes and turned her face up.

  The temperature had cooled to a more comfortable level. A slight breeze had kicked up to caress Jordan’s skin while the sun’s warmth soothed her face. She inhaled the sweet scent of Jasmine deeply.

  Timing is everything, she thought again.

  Bingo.

  “I can search the hard drive to make the most recent files show up at the top of the list.”

  Jordan typed in the commands to make the computer sort by date modified. In a jiffy, she had thousands of files in a chronological list. She scanned quickly and found what she wanted near the top.

  Notes t
o Ask Chelsey

  Jordan’s pulse quickened. The notes document was created the day before Brenda’s death and modified the day she died. Yes! She fist pumped the air.

  The title, Notes to Ask Chelsey, implied multiple questions that Brenda had researched. Which seemed promising. Maybe.

  Jordan clicked to open the file and scanned the document faster than she could comprehend it. The notes were clinical in language Jordan couldn’t quickly decipher. But it was the questions at the end that chilled her blood. She shivered while gooseflesh pebbled her skin.

  She read the last four questions on the list repeatedly.

  Can he be cured? Medication for a juvenile sociopath? Is he likely to strike again?

  The questions were confusing, too. When her mom created these notes, Evan/Aaron was no longer incarcerated. He’d served his sentence for vehicular manslaughter and had been released at least a couple of months before when he’d turned eighteen. She’d had no contact with him in more than four years as far as Jordan had discovered.

  Why would Brenda be worried about him after all that time? Why was she planning to ask Dr. Ross these questions the day she died?

  Jordan returned to Brenda’s calendar and looked back a few months. She found nothing about Aaron Robinson for the entire year. A quick search for his name turned up nothing in the hard drive files, either. If Brenda had had any contact with him at all since his trial, Jordan found nothing on this hard drive to prove it.

  On a whim, she searched Mark Gifford’s name. Again, she found nothing.

  Jordan sat back in her chair and stapled her fingers over her chest to think.

  The best person to discuss these questions with was Dr. Chelsey Ross, so she grabbed her phone and placed the call before she could chicken out.

  On the third ring, her mom’s friend answered.

  “Hello, Jordan.” Dr. Ross’s voice was weak, barely above a whisper. Jordan last saw her a month ago. She’d been strong and healthy then.

  “Dr. Ross? Are you sick? Can I do something for you?” Jordan jumped up and paced the room.

  “I’m improving.” She cleared her throat and hacked a dry cough. “I have typhoid.”

  A jolt like electric shock hit Jordan’s heart and her questions tumbled out. “Typhoid? How did you get that? Haven’t you been vaccinated? Did you get sick in Haiti? I’m coming over. Right now.”

  “You can’t. I’m better, but I’m still contagious—” Another hacking cough halted her objections. Jordan heard her sipping something before she continued. “I returned to Sabatier the day after I saw you last. Dr. Eric Lee joined me later.”

  Dr. Ross sipped again and whatever she was drinking helped her raspy voice at least. Thank God.

  “But you were all so careful. Did Dr. Lee get sick, too? Is he okay?” Dr. Lee had been especially nice and helpful to Jordan when they were all in Haiti last month. She’d talked to him only once since then during a phone call about Evan Groves. Dr. Lee was the Plant University Soccer Team doctor. He’d helped Jordan identify Evan Groves, which led to Groves’ arrest. She hadn’t realized he’d returned to Haiti so quickly.

  A long pause. Finally, Dr. Ross replied, “You haven’t heard then?”

  Jordan shook her head. “Heard what?”

  “Eric became ill shortly after he arrived in Haiti. He was the first of us to have symptoms.” Another pause. Another sip. “He’d been vaccinated, so we didn’t diagnose typhoid right away. His condition was advanced before we started treatment, which is how he infected the rest of the team.”

  Jordan’s throat closed up and her eyelids felt hot. She knew what had happened even though Dr. Ross had yet to speak the words. Hearing them would make it all too real. She sat down heavily.

  “Eric died, Jordan. A few days ago.”

  Jordan cleared her throat. “And the rest of the medical team?”

  “We airlifted everyone back to Tampa. We’re all in isolation quarantine at Tampa Southern Hospital.”

  Jordan closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. Her stomach felt queasy.

  “Jordan?” Dr. Ross’s voice was weaker, barely audible. “Do you have any symptoms?”

  “What? No.” Her eyes popped open and her breath quickened. “Typhoid symptoms? What are they?” She’d been feeling fine. Physically. Hadn’t she?

  “It starts with fever, headache, cough, general malaise. You’ve been back from Sabatier for more than a month. You’d have had symptoms after two weeks—” Her cough erupted.

  Jordan heard muffled coughing that lasted a while.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t ask you about symptoms earlier. I should have.”

  “No, no. I’m fine. I’ve had no symptoms at all.” She ran her hand through her hair and rested her elbow on the table to prop her head up. She could have typhoid. She could have exposed her dad. Her whole body began to shake.

  “I’m glad, Jordan. I need to rest now. We’ll talk soon, okay?” Dr. Ross started to cough again before she ended the call.

  Jordan sat holding her phone and staring out the mansion’s magnificent windows overlooking Tampa Bay. She thought about her time in Haiti. Of all the risks she’d experienced there, including the vicious Tonton Moun Nui, contracting typhoid wasn’t something she’d considered. Not even remotely.

  She pulled the laptop closer to her chair and did a quick search for typhoid. The facts were frightening.

  Typhoid was highly contagious and treatable with antibiotics. But left untreated, it was often fatal. It was also rare in the United States. Doctors could be forgiven for failing to recognize the symptoms.

  Typhoid. In Tampa. That was certainly a news story and a serious matter of public health. Yet, she’d heard nothing about it on Channel 12 or any competitive station. How could that be?

  Until she knew more, she wouldn’t pitch the story at Channel 12. But she’d follow up with Dr. Ross tomorrow, for sure.

  Jordan glanced at the clock. If she left now, she’d have time to prepare a good pitch for the afternoon meeting.

  CHAPTER 17

  “Jordan. Jenny Lane here.” The call came through while Jordan was driving to work. “Look, I’m sorry. I know how important this file is to you. But I am completely booked today. Overbooked, really. Can you come by the office tomorrow morning? I’ll be here to catch up on some things. You can give me the signature and I can give you the file. Shouldn’t take too long.”

  “Absolutely. I’ll be there.” The news didn’t excite Jordan like she’d expected. Her dad’s worries must have seeped into her heart. She chewed on her lower lip. Maybe she’d already opened the lid to her own Pandora’s Box. “Thank you so much, Ms. Lane. I mean, Jenny. See you tomorrow.”

  “Okay. But Jordan?” Jenny’s concern came through loud and clear.

  “Yes?”

  “Really think about this first. If it was my mom, I wouldn’t want to see the contents.”

  “Okay,” Jordan echoed and rang off, because it was all she could get past the lump in her throat and she had to get a hold of herself before she faced Patricia.

  She parked Hermes on the third floor of the parking garage at 2:05 and hurried inside. She’d have enough time to follow up on the missing Maria case before her shift started at 2:30.

  She logged in to a computer in the corner of the newsroom and scanned all official emails from the past three days. She didn’t know Maria’s last name, but, luckily, the number of missing person emails the newsroom received on a daily basis was typically zero to two. Not because people rarely went missing. Exactly the opposite. But because reports on most of them were never filed.

  But this one was, probably thanks to her report to Clayton. Maria Ortiz. Age seventeen. From Warm Haven, Florida. A rural farming community east of Tampa. Reported yesterday. If no one had seen her since she left the Pierce house, she’d been missing less than twenty-four hours.

  So, step one was firm. Maria Ortiz was officially missing. But that wouldn’t be enough to make a news story. Wh
at had Clayton said? Something about human trafficking in Tampa lately. She created a couple of quick searches and found at least a dozen hits in the past six months.

  She scanned the material. Florida was the third largest human trafficking state in the country… Men, women, and children were forced to serve in the sex trade, domestic service, and agriculture… A coalition of law enforcement, private sector providers, and citizens were working to help victims with housing, health care, and other needs.

  Could any of this apply to Maria?

  Maria had seemed exhausted and dispirited, but she hadn’t seemed like she felt forced into anything. Just the opposite. She talked about how she loved her job and wanted to keep it. Those bruises on her wrists and ankles could have an innocent explanation, perhaps.

  Something about the girl had touched Jordan’s heart. Maria seemed too fragile, like an abuse victim, maybe. At the time, Jordan had been preoccupied with her own problems, but still, Maria’s plight had pierced her armor. Even if it turned out that she’d simply run away with a boyfriend who enjoyed kinky sex, Jordan wanted to help find her before something worse happened.

  Jordan pitched the story in the afternoon meeting. Missing girl. Young and inexperienced. Possibly abused. Picture provided by Jordan Fox’s Phone, but she didn’t say that.

  The pitch was met with enthusiasm colder than Iceland in January.

  Patricia scowled. “People have the right not to show up for work. If that’s all you’ve got on this, it’s not worth following. We have a full plate today already.”

  If Jordan fought for her story, maybe Richard would back her up. “Seriously? With all the human trafficking problems in Tampa recently?”

  Richard perked up. “Do you have any evidence that this is a human trafficking situation?”

  “Well, not yet, but—” Jordan stopped talking before she made a fool of herself by mentioning her News Nose said there was something very odd going on here.