by Diane Capri
Lillian filled the silence. “The Strawberry Café thing?”
“Right. Yes. Strawberry Café video comin’ atchya.” She hoped her voice sounded much calmer than she felt. If Patricia or even Richard had called, well, she didn’t even want to think about that.
“Okay, because yeah. You should have been back half an hour ago to load it into the system. They wanted to use it at five but they couldn’t because you weren’t back yet.”
Oh, man. No wonder Theresa had called. Patricia must have been livid.
“Look,” Lillian lowered her voice as if she didn’t want to be overheard at the producer pod. “I know you’re new, and it’s your first day back, so everyone gives you a little wiggle room, but you probably don’t want to miss any opportunities to get your stuff on the air when given the chance. I mean, Drew Hodges never misses a chance. As you know.”
Boy, did she ever. And if she didn’t pull this one out, she’d be toast for sure.
CHAPTER 21
Jordan edited the Strawberry Café story for six and it turned out great. She hung around waiting for an updated assignment, but Patricia ignored her and nothing came her way.
Which meant she had time to work on the Maria story. But first she owed Tom Clark a call. Since he’d been so nice to her.
Yeah, right. Just admit you want to talk to the guy.
Nothing wrong with that.
“Jordan!” Like he couldn’t contain his enthusiasm, which could only be a very good sign.
She filled him in on her conversation with Edith. “Just thought you’d want to know.”
“Why isn’t her family more active in the search?” He sounded like he was standing in a cavernous room. The brewery, probably.
“They aren’t very comfortable speaking English, and they don’t know what else to do. I mean, they told the police. They talked to me. They said they pray about it. That’s all they know to do.” Jordan ran a hand through her hair. “I’ve got a call in to Clayton, but he’s not picking up. Maybe the police have made some progress, but I don’t know.”
Tom grunted, then a little preoccupied, “And why doesn’t the station care about this story again?”
“Well, she’s seventeen. For all practical purposes, she’s emancipated. She lives away from home and she’s not in school and she has a job.” Jordan repeated all the good arguments Patricia would make. “A missing seventeen-year-old looks more like a runaway than an innocent little girl who was abducted. Especially since we don’t have any evidence that she was taken and even her family and co-workers aren’t saying that.”
“She could be a runaway, couldn’t she? Or maybe she just took a day or two off? Went to Downtown Disney?” Somehow it didn’t irritate Jordan as much as when Patricia said the same thing.
Jordan blew a long stream of frustrated air toward the phone. “Yes, it could be. I don’t really know the girl. It just seems… I don’t know.”
Tom grunted, like he’d lifted something heavy. “Aren’t runaways at risk for human trafficking, though?”
“Within the first forty-eight hours, runaways are at high risk for that.”
“All right, so, bottom line. We need to find Felix.” Tom summed it up.
She’d already planned to go to the LFC offices in the morning, but she didn’t say that. “Even if I could leave work right now, which I can’t, but even if I could, he wouldn’t be at the office at seven o’clock on a Friday night.”
“Right, hang on,” Tom said to someone else. “Jordan, I’m sorry. I’m right in the middle of brewing here and I’ve got to get back to it before the beer is ruined. Can we talk later?”
“Yeah. Of course. I should get back to work, too.” She lingered, though.
“This is why your work schedule is perfect for me. Weekends are my busiest time, too.” His comment warmed Jordan all the way to her toes. “But Jordan. You left out one part.”
“What’s that?”
“Be right there,” he said, but not to her. “I’ve really gotta go. Your safety tonight, though. I’m not trying to suggest you need a bodyguard, but in your shoes, I’d want one.”
Jordan threw her head back and closed her eyes. She was exhausted. Convincing her dad to sign the paperwork for Jenny Lane had used up about a week’s worth of emotional energy. As much as she liked Tom Clark, she wasn’t up for entertaining him after work again tonight.
“No worries. The police squad car will be here when I get off work. And I’m going straight home to bed. I’ll be fine tonight.” She put a smile into her voice. “But I’m looking forward to Tuesday. My day off.”
“Me, too. Goodnight, Jordan Fox.” He sounded sexy, like a late night radio show host lonely women listened to after dark.
Which was how Jordan knew she’d made the right choice. Because no way would she be able to resist him if he stayed overnight again.
Jordan saw Theresa coming into the newsroom after her live shot, laden with her usual batch of shoulder bags. Jordan met Theresa at her desk.
“Thanks for the heads up,” Jordan said. Theresa was the only one at Channel 12 who always had her back.
Theresa pulled off her bags and plopped all but one of them on the floor. “I’ve gotta run to the bathroom. Walk with me.”
Theresa moved like a whirlwind all the time. They passed Patricia at the assignment desk, but she seemed not to notice.
“Tell me about your missing girl story,” Theresa said, without looking at Jordan. “That’s where you were, right? Maybe I can help so you don’t end up flipping burgers at Tom Clark’s brewery.”
Had Tom called Theresa? They were friends, and he was worried about Jordan. So he probably did. Which annoyed Jordan and pleased her at the same time. “You heard my pitch at the meeting, right?”
“I did. And straight up, Jordan? Patricia was right.” Jordan felt her spine stiffen, but Theresa didn’t let up. “Look, you’ve got to act like a professional. When you don’t have a good pitch, you’ve got to know that. When someone points out the problems, you should be grateful. You don’t want to waste your time on stories that will never be aired, do you?”
“You’re right, but—”
“No buts, Jordan.” They’d reached the bathroom and Theresa had checked to be sure no one else was there. She ran her hands through her long, caramel hair and held it at the back of her head, elbows out, while she wrapped an elastic around her ponytail. “Look, you’ve got more talent in your little toe than Drew Hodges has in his whole body.” Jordan felt sheepish warmth flood through her. “But if you ever want to get what you deserve around here, you’ve got to work on your timing, girl.”
Jordan gave Theresa a quick hug. They were friends again.
“So tell me about your missing girl. Skip the parts I already know.”
CHAPTER 22
Jordan talked while Theresa gooped some white stuff onto her face and wiped it around to remove the garish HD-friendly makeup. Then she splashed her face with water and pulled out her bag full of normal makeup.
By the time Theresa looked like her off-camera self, she’d heard the whole story. Or at least as much of it as Jordan knew. The tale didn’t take very long.
“Let’s get a coffee.” Theresa turned and dashed toward the break room, with Jordan following like the white contrail behind a Boeing 747.
“Okay. Recap.” Jordan grinned. Theresa talked like a list of bullet points sometimes. “Girl shows up at Linda Pierce’s house. She’s incompetent. And pretty. She’s also young, shy, and eager to please. Add to that, she’s poor and bruised in a way that suggests she’s been physically restrained against her will. Then she disappears. Roommate, parents, and employer have no idea where she is. That about sum it up?”
“Pretty much.”
Theresa arched her eyebrows. “What else? Facts, I mean. Not bad juju vibes, or whatever you call it.”
“My News Nose.” Jordan grinned and shrugged. She felt there had to be more. But she couldn’t actually prove anything else. “Mari
a wouldn’t just run off with nowhere to go and not tell anyone. She doesn’t own a car or even have a driver’s license. I checked. How would she go anywhere?”
“Good point.” Theresa nodded. “It’s not like we have great public transportation around here.” She seemed to be thinking about everything for a while as she sipped coffee hot enough to scald her tongue.
“Clayton Vaughn, the Tampa cop I told you about? He says we’ve got a serious human trafficking problem.”
Theresa nodded again. “Huge. I’ve done countless stories on it. The port is a good place for bringing people in and out of Tampa without getting caught. But that’s not the only place these slime bags find slave labor. Farming communities like the one your girl came from are another source. Runaways. Internet sites. Casinos. All those adult entertainment spots are hunting ground, too.”
Jordan’s quick research had turned up a more hopeful option. “But what about safe houses? Could she have been rescued and taken to one of those?”
“Maybe. But if that’s what happened, we won’t find her. They’ll relocate her. It’s a little bit like witness protection. She’ll disappear forever.” Theresa must have noticed Jordan’s frown. “So the question is, how do we find your tragic little rabbit before it’s too late?”
Jordan’s heart pounded hard against her sternum. She sat up straight and stared at Theresa as if she’d instantly grown another head. “What did you say?”
Theresa cocked her head. “Which part?”
“About finding my tragic rabbit?”
“Chill. I just meant her life sucks, right? And she’s a runner, one way or another.” Theresa’s puzzled expression lingered. “Why?”
“But where did you hear that expression?”
“You mean ‘tragic rabbit’? It’s common slang. Like ‘poor little lamb’ or ‘lost soul’. Why?”
“Not that common. I’ve only heard ‘tragic rabbit’ recently.”
“Well, it’s common where I come from.”
“Which is where, exactly?”
“You’re being a little weird about this, aren’t you?” Theresa shrugged. “My ancestors went from Mexico to Cuba. Grandparents migrated from Cuba and my parents were born in Miami before my grandparents moved here. Me, I’m a native Tampa girl, just like you.”
“Lemme guess. Your family lived in Centro Tampa?”
“When I was a kid, they did. I grew up there. It was a great place for kids back then. Not so much now.” Theresa finished her coffee. “Can we get back to your missing girl?”
“Just one more thing. You know that ‘Lost Soul’ is a Polish death metal band, right? My ex used to listen to their music.”
“I didn’t know that. Death metal is so 1990. Not my thing.” Theresa grinned. “Lost Soul is also a flying demon in Doom 3, which is one of my nephew’s favorite video games. Nasty demon, too.”
Jordan pulled her phone out of her pocket and did a quick internet search for “Lost Soul.” Dozens of hits. Everything from poems to books to clothes and games and, well, lots of other things.
Her fingers trembled when she changed the search to “tragic rabbit” and hit the search button. Again, dozens of hits and similar variety. Poems, music, artists, even a couple of specialty shops.
“Earth to Jordan,” Theresa knocked on the table. “Anybody home?”
Startled, Jordan looked up. “Oh. Sorry. It’s just. Well. Never mind.”
All of a sudden, Jordan felt exhausted. She hadn’t realized how much she’d been relying on the connection between El Pulpo and tragic rabbit to solve her mother’s murder. Now that she knew how common tragic rabbit was, a sense of helplessness washed over her once more.
“Okay. So back to business, then?” Theresa tapped her fingers on the table, impatiently.
“Yes. How do we find Maria? She doesn’t have a cell phone, I asked her parents. So we can’t trace her through cell tower pings or anything like a ‘Find Me’ app.”
“Microchip?”
“What? Like a dog tracker or something?”
“Kind of. I mean, there are microchips like that for humans. But there’s microchips in everything these days. To thwart thieves, mostly. Credit cards and hotel keys and things like that.”
“I don’t know if Maria would have anything like that, but it’s worth a try. And even if she doesn’t, maybe that disgusting Felix Marsh does. He probably has a traceable cell phone, too.” Jordan was already scrolling through her phone. “Let’s see if we can find Keith Simpson.”
Theresa grinned. “He’s so geeky it’s adorable.”
“Agreed.” Keith picked up on the first ring. “Jordan Fox here.”
“I know, I see you.”
Jordan blinked. She looked for drones or cameras or other watching devices around the room. “You can see me? Right now?”
“You betcha.”
“How?”
“I’m walking into the break room right now.”
CHAPTER 23
Theresa started laughing and Jordan whipped around to see Keith standing at the coffee pot. He waved. She scowled, disconnected, and waved him over. “Ha. Ha. Ha.”
“You’re so much fun to tease, J. Fox.” Keith raised his coffee cup as if it was a champagne flute. “I couldn’t resist. How may I be of service?”
“What do you know about microchips?”
“Everything.” He wiggled his eyebrows like Groucho Marx. “Why?”
“We need to find a guy. Felix Marsh. He’s employed by Lemony Fresh Cleaners over on the north edge of downtown Tampa. We think he’s kidnapped a young girl named Maria Ortiz.” Jordan squared her shoulders. “My informed hunch is that he may have her involved in human trafficking. Can you help?”
“The easiest way to find him is through his cell phone, if he has one. People tend to keep cell phones on their bodies.” Keith turned the chair around and straddled it, folding his arms to rest on the chair back. “Second easiest thing is to use The Fly, once we figure out where he lives or where his car is or something like that.”
The Fly was Keith’s multi-rotor, or drone, as most people called them. He and Jordan had used The Fly to track a high-speed police chase and get great video for TV in the process. The Fly was super cool, but could it find Felix and, through him, Maria?
Theresa asked, “If that doesn’t work, maybe we can use microchips? Some of these human trafficking organizations use microchips on their workers. But if not, they should also have microchips embedded in credit cards, bank cards, all sorts of things they’ve got in their wallets, right?”
Keith nodded slowly. “That will take a little longer, but it’s doable. Possibly.”
“Let’s divide up the work and get started.” Jordan’s energy had renewed with the promise of potential success, finally. “Maybe we can find Maria tonight. We need to hurry.”
“Why?” Theresa cocked her head again. “I mean, other than the obvious that sooner is better?”
“Because Maria said Felix wanted to put her to work on the cruise ships,” Jordan replied.
“And cruise ships leave port around here on Saturday. Tomorrow.” Theresa nodded her understanding. “Got it.”
“Which means we don’t have a lot of time, folks.” Keith stood and lifted his leg over the seat of the chair and returned it to normal position.
“I’ll take the records search. Maybe Felix has rented or purchased a place to live. I’ll look for bank accounts and car titles, too.” Theresa headed to her desk.
“Wait.” Theresa turned back to look at Jordan from the doorway. “He was driving a white van when he showed up at the Pierce house yesterday. I might have a license plate number on the photos I shot. Or at least, the van’s make and model. I’ll send them to your phone and you’ll have them before you get back to your desk.”
“That will help.” Theresa waved and kept going.
“Send those photos to me, too,” Keith said. “If I find Felix Marsh, I’ll have a way to match him up. I’ll pull the cell phones.
See if I can find one that works for our purposes.”
“Let’s meet in Keith’s office in an hour.” Jordan headed outside for privacy to call Clayton. She’d get an update on police efforts. And she had another idea, too.
Because she’d vowed never again to forget that everything in Tampa was connected, she’d ask about whether El Pulpo was involved in human trafficking. And whether they used microchips on their workers. If he didn’t know, Agent Ryser would.
Clayton’s phone rang three times before he picked up. “You’re still at work, right?”
“Most people say hello when they answer the phone,” Jordan said.
“So that’s a yes. What’s up?”
“I’m hoping you’ve found something on the missing girl, Maria Ortiz. Any luck?”
“Not yet. We interviewed the parents early this morning. We persuaded them to sign the missing person report. We circulated that. We followed up with her employer.” He sounded a bit exasperated. “But so far, no real leads.”
“You talked to Felix Marsh? What did he say?”
“Felix who? No, we talked to the President at Lemony Fresh Cleaning. A woman. She said Maria was new, been with them only a couple of weeks. She didn’t show up for work after she left the Pierce house. That’s all they knew.”
“What about her employment records. Did you get those?”
“Nothing helpful there. Her residence address is an apartment she shares with five other girls, all of them working at one domestic job or another. None have two nickels to rub together. No car, no driver’s license, no credit cards, no cell phone.”
“So how did she get away? That apartment isn’t exactly on the bus line. And I doubt she would’ve had cash for a taxi. Someone had to drive her somewhere.” Jordan took a deep breath. “Did you talk to Edith Lena? The roommate who recruited Maria?”
“Now there’s an interesting story.”
“How so?”
“Edith is quite the little entrepreneur. She’s responsible for recruiting at least a dozen other girls for LFC. And she’s got a driver’s license as well as a car.”
