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

by Diane Capri

  “It might be a waste of time, but I’d really appreciate it.” Detective Grey paused again. Waited. Then he said the magic words. “I’d owe you.”

  She switched on a lamp and shuffled toward a pile of clothes. “Come to the port? Uh, sure. I’ll, uh, be right there. Give me twenty minutes.”

  “Come to the port. You’ll see our team parked at the right dock. I’ll call one of the officers on your detail to escort you directly to us.”

  She had a full day already planned. She might not have time to come home before work. She jumped in the shower to wash off the lingering tobacco and bleach odors that seemed to have soaked into her hair and skin. In ten minutes, she was dressed and ready. She could apply makeup in the car later.

  She grabbed her bag and her car keys and ran downstairs. At the bottom of the staircase, she glanced into the big room, gasped and drew her hand to her heart. “Oh my god.”

  She’d forgotten Clayton was sleeping on the couch. Her heart thumped hard against her ribs before she recognized him and everything that happened last night came rushing back. Her body recalled the chloroform, and the tender flesh around her waist where his thick arm had squeezed her way too tight.

  Gunshots. Bullets.

  Oh, no! Was Linda’s house damaged?

  Her heart pounded wildly again.

  You don’t have time for this now, Jordan. Get a move on.

  Somehow, like clicking off a switch, she pushed into Practical Jordan once more. She glanced again at Clayton, sleeping like a baby on the couch, and wished she was still sleeping, too.

  Gotta go.

  He’d freak if he woke up and she was gone, though. She took a moment to leave a note on the kitchen counter and hustled out the back door into the warm pre-dawn air.

  Sweat instantly dotted her brow. This late in October, Florida’s infamous summer humidity was almost gone. She chalked up the beads to lack of sleep and Clayton practically scaring her into cardiac arrest and leftover nerves from the night before.

  When she reached the driveway, she waved to the two officers in the cruiser. She didn’t recognize these two. They must have come on duty when everyone left following their work before daylight.

  The cruiser backed out and waited on the street. She hopped into Hermes and sped off toward the port. The cruiser followed. Jordan wrinkled her nose. This was Detective Grey’s escort, too, not solely Clayton’s doing. For now, she’d just have to live with them and get rid of them later.

  She checked the mirror and tied her hair back. She’d pulled enough all-nighters in college to know that the best way to deal with lack of sleep was to convince herself she’d had plenty. Makeup would help with that. So would sunrise. And coffee. Lots of coffee.

  Maybe she could readjust her morning and get a nap before work. Her first appointment was the lawyer, Jenny Lane. 9:30 a.m. That could wait. She’d call Jenny once the sun came up. Calling at this hour would be just plain rude.

  Jordan hit the call back button to ring Detective Grey as she arrived at the port. Like he said, finding the ship was easy. Blue and red and white and yellow flashing lights on top of every imaginable government vehicle illuminated the area. Investigators continued to swarm and process evidence. Paramedics and ambulances were standing by for transport. A couple of fire trucks parked across the street.

  She was directed to park Hermes nearby. She stashed her phone inside her sling bag where she could easily retrieve it for photos and video. She’d learned her lessons on that score.

  Jordan was escorted to the area where Detective Grey waited near one of the smaller cruise ships. She spotted Maria Ortiz, one of several teenaged victims rescued last night, standing with a young woman, mid-twenties. Jordan winced as if she’d been the one to receive Felix’s blows.

  CHAPTER 5

  In the garish lights, Maria’s battered face looked worse than last night. Her bruises were dark blotches on too white skin. Butterfly tape held sutures together near her jaw line. Her clothes were torn and her hair hung in dirty strings. She’d been crying, too.

  She was just a girl. Too young and fragile.

  Jordan pulled her phone out and shot a few photos of Maria and the surrounding area. She switched to video, prepared to shoot establishing frames just in case.

  Detective Grey touched her arm. “This is off the record for now. You can’t use anything you find out here. Do I have your word?”

  “Of course.” She felt the heat rise in her chest, nodded and dropped her phone into her bag. “Why is Maria here? Shouldn’t she be at the hospital?”

  “She went. Her injuries aren’t life threatening. She came back voluntarily with the social worker,” Detective Grey said. “We found three more girls hidden on the ship, so far. We think Maria can identify them.”

  Jordan hadn’t expected to find more girls after they rescued thirty at The Grove last night. “Three more?”

  He nodded. “So far. Already loaded. False documents. We think Felix Marsh is responsible for those, too.”

  A shiver ran through her body. She’d been that close to the scum bag. Close enough to smell his foul breath. He’d creeped her out. She’d figured him for a low life, yes. But a human trafficker? Why didn’t her news nose pick up on that before it was too late?

  “We think more girls are hidden on the ship. We’re searching and we’ll find them. But Maria’s afraid to go back inside. Something she saw scared her more than everything else that’s happened.” Detective Grey accepted a cup of black coffee from a passing helper and handed one to Jordan. “After she saw whatever it was, she clammed up. She hasn’t said a word since.”

  “What did she see?” No matter what it was, how much worse could it be than what Maria had already experienced at Felix Marsh’s hands?

  “We’re not completely sure. She wouldn’t tell us. I’m hoping you can get her to explain. But it might help to see it for yourself first. Come on.” Detective Grey walked toward the ship and Jordan walked with him.

  Maria was the girl who cowered when she spilled water and flowers on the floor in the mansion’s kitchen the day she came to clean. She’d been worried that Jordan would strike her. Maria could be irrationally afraid of almost anything.

  Two uniformed officers followed as Jordan and Grey walked aboard at one of the lower cargo decks. The ship had been prepared to head out to sea with a full passenger list in a few hours. It was heavily laden with supplies for the seven-day trip as well as cargo to be delivered at ports of call.

  After last night’s FBI raid, authorities halted unloading cargo the ship had delivered to Tampa.

  “This ship sailed in from Port-au-Prince, Haiti. You were there recently.” Detective Grey walked fast. Jordan had to rush to keep pace as they twisted and turned through small walkways between the neatly stacked cargo. “Maria’s parents are from Haiti, too. A rural area near where you were in Sabatier. Maybe you’ll recognize whatever Maria saw that frightened her.”

  Jordan’s internal radar switched on the second Detective Grey mentioned Haiti. El Pulpo’s actions in Haiti were brutal and merciless, as she knew from first-hand experience. But she continued walking and said nothing.

  When they turned a sharp corner mid ship, Detective Grey stopped in front of a locked shipping container. “This is where we found them.”

  The container was metal, painted sickly green, and rusty around the joints. It was the kind of thing she might have seen transported on a passing freight train.

  Even inside the ship’s cavernous hull, the container looked huge. She had to stand back to see its whole length. It looked like it would probably hold three times as much as her college dorm room. “How big is this thing?”

  “This is what they call a forty-foot high-cube,” Detective Grey explained, standing aside and waving one of the officers forward. “It measures the same as a standard container, forty feet long by eight feet wide. But this high cube is a foot taller. Nine and half feet instead of the standard eight and a half.”

  S
weat dotted Jordan’s upper lip. “Were the girls locked inside this thing? All the way from Port-au-Prince? It’s got to be hot in there.”

  “Absolutely stifling,” Detective Gray replied. “It’s a wonder they weren’t all dead when we found them.”

  “Are they going to be okay?”

  “We’re waiting to hear back from the hospital on that.”

  The officer brought keys and unlocked both container doors. He pushed one door wide open. Hot air seemed to rush out. The interior was illuminated only by the ambient light from the now-open doorway. She could see into the interior for a distance of only about six or seven feet.

  Detective Grey pulled out a large flashlight, turned it on and aimed it inside.

  Jordan watched, dumbfounded. “You found how many girls in here?”

  The first ten feet or so beyond the natural light, as far as she could see in the flashlight’s beam, was filled from floor to ceiling with what looked like oak rum barrels. Maybe rats could scoot between them, but humans certainly could not.

  “Three. So far. But we’ve found more high-cube containers inbound and outbound, too.” Detective Grey shook his head. “We’re checking them now.”

  Jordan shivered.

  The barrels she’d seen in Haiti had the word “RUM” stamped on their flat tops. These abutting barrels stood upright, stacked on abutting pallets. Whether a stamp on the flat end identified the contents, she couldn’t see.

  “There’s a very narrow space here, along the right side,” Detective Gray moved his flashlight to show Jordan a dark, narrow corridor that seemed to run maybe half of the container’s forty-foot length. “About twenty feet back, there’s a small open area where we found the girls. Sleeping bags, a couple of gallons of water, and a bucket for a toilet. Not much else.”

  Detective Grey pulled out his phone and showed her photos of the sleeping quarters and the three girls officers had found there.

  “I don’t have claustrophobia, but I couldn’t be stuck in a place like that for ten minutes without freaking out.” Jordan shivered again. She stepped back from the container’s cave-like entrance. She swallowed cold, bitter coffee to force the bile down from her throat. “Maybe that’s what spooked Maria. Maybe she saw where Felix had planned to put her and she couldn’t deal with it.”

  “We considered that.” Detective Grey nodded. “But Maria didn’t clam up and turn into a puddle of jelly until she noticed these barrels that were used to define the space where the girls were hidden.” He touched the photo on his phone to enlarge the makeshift walls.

  Unlike the barrels at the front of the container, visible from the open door, these barrels were newer, smaller, and packed tighter together. They had stamps on the sides, but Jordan couldn’t read the stamps. Between the abutting pallets were wooden boxes, stacked in single columns, floor to ceiling, also stamped.

  “Haiti exports rum…” Made from sugarcane. Sugarcane was one thing Haiti had in abundance. She ran through all possible connections in her mind, which was still sluggish.

  “Well, here’s the thing,” Detective Grey said. “We opened a few of these boxes.”

  “Rum bottles inside, right?”

  “Probably. We sent the photos over to the FBI to see if they have any info to help. No word yet.” Detective Grey moved a bit closer and lowered his voice. “The bottles all have the same labels from a well-known Haitian rum distillery. They’re all sealed the same way. Some look like they’re filled with rum. But other bottles are definitely filled with something else. It’s thinner and clearer than the rum. Doesn’t look like alcohol of any kind.”

  “I’m sorry. I have no idea what it could be.” Jordan shook her head. “I didn’t see anything like that while I was in Haiti.”

  Detective Grey drained the last of his coffee, which must have been as cold as hers by now. “That’s what I figured. But can you ask Maria? Get her to tell you what she knows? Because something about those barrels and bottles has scared the bejesus out of her.”

  “Wish I could help. I’ll try. Let me take a look at the pictures one more time though?” Something in the photos had caught her eye. A symbol stamped or maybe burned into the oak barrels and the wooden boxes, too.

  She enlarged the photo to see the symbol better.

  It was a fish hook. There was a slight fishing line running through the top of the hook. The symbol looked very familiar, and it sent pulsing frissons along her spine.

  “Can I have copies of these photos?” She frowned and shook her head. “It’s frustrating. I feel like I know this symbol, but right at the moment, I can’t place it.”

  “If you’ll promise to keep this off the record for now, I’ll email one photo of the barrels and one of the bottles.” Detective Grey waited for her confirmation.

  “Okay. If I can figure it out, I’ll call you.” The best way to remember was to focus on something else and let the memory bubble up from wherever it was hiding. She turned to walk toward Maria. “I need to get back.”

  Detective Grey sent the photo emails and then fell in beside her. She had a lot to do today and she couldn’t spend the whole morning here at the port. “So what happened to Felix Marsh? Was he taken into custody?”

  “We’ve got him. We grabbed surveillance video from the port over the past seventy-two hours.” He hesitated briefly, as if he might disclose what he’d seen on the video, and then thought better of it. “Let’s just say, Mr. Marsh is going to be spending the next five World Cups in prison.”

  Jordan blinked and cocked her head. That was an odd way to say he’d spend twenty years behind bars. “What do you mean?”

  “Gotta love poetic justice.” Detective Grey grinned like a man with a clever secret. “Turns out Marsh is a soccer nut. Loves the sport. Loves it. Played as a kid, bets on the games, goes to every World Cup. If he’d been paying attention instead of watching soccer on TV when you sent that drone up to his condo last night, he might be a free man today.”

  “Poetic justice, for sure.” Jordan nodded absently. But the soccer connection was more than that. Soccer seemed to be at the center of every El Pulpo case she’d reported. In fact, soccer and the upcoming bid for the World Cup had been a big story in Tampa for the past few weeks. But it mostly was out of sight, out of mind for her. Covering sports wasn’t her job, and she had little interest except when her friends were playing.

  She made a mental note to run that lead down as soon as she could, too.

  When they rounded the last corner, Jordan spied Maria and the social worker standing in the same spot on the dock near two police cruisers. Weak daylight had arrived while Jordan was inside the ship.

  She approached and talked to Maria but the girl was too traumatized by whatever had spooked her. Jordan got nothing more from her than Detective Grey already knew.

  “Thanks for trying, Jordan. And don’t forget, I owe you.” He shook her hand.

  She wouldn’t forget. Not a chance. And she knew exactly what she’d ask for in return for this favor, when the time was right. Her Tampa police detail followed her out of the parking lot. Clayton must have told them to keep an eye on her.

  CHAPTER 6

  Although it was still early, barely after sunrise, Jordan stopped to have a quick breakfast with her dad. Rising before the sun was a habit Nelson Fox had never tried to break. Her police detail had followed her to the Thompson Street house and parked on the street to wait. Her dad’s police detail was parked in the driveway.

  She didn’t want her dad to worry. She believed stress had caused his stroke almost five years ago. His recovery had been slow, but steady. She certainly didn’t want to give him another one. Stress was his number one enemy.

  Well, at least stress was his biggest enemy until his nosey daughter painted a bull’s-eye on his back. She gave him a big hug and didn’t wince when he squeezed her waist, still tender from last night.

  She stayed less than an hour. Long enough to be sure he was okay and to let him reach the same false conclus
ion about her.

  After breakfast, she drove Hermes to the first intersection and stopped at the traffic light. Left or right? She tapped both thumbs on the steering wheel.

  Turn right toward the mansion? No. Clayton was still sleeping on the couch. He needed sleep as much as she did. Maybe more. But she’d call him soon to get rid of her watchdogs. She couldn’t do her job with a Tampa police cruiser following her around everywhere.

  Too early to go to work, too. She didn’t have the energy she’d need to face more than a full shift with the assistant news director, Patricia Neil, breathing down her neck. Not yet. Not after everything she’d been through in the past twenty-four hours.

  Suck it up, Jordan. Turn left.

  Her appointment with the lawyer wasn’t for another hour and she’d planned to reschedule. The legal file containing everything her dad’s lawyer had collected while Nelson was a person of interest in Brenda Fox’s murder investigation was important, but not urgent. Everything contained in the file had been there for five years already.

  But if she could swing by there now, at least she wouldn’t be wasting time.

  When the light cycled to green, Jordan’s little blue Honda sub-compact, Hermes, turned left. Like he had a mind of his own.

  Jennifer Lane’s law office was located on Cleveland Street near Howard Avenue in one of several historic buildings recently renovated for professional offices instead of the private homes they’d been at the turn of the twentieth century.

  Hermes had covered the short distance as fleetly as his name implied. This time, Jordan didn’t miss the driveway to the parking entrance on the first pass. Jenny’s car was the only one in the lot.

  She called Jenny’s number and waited.

  After seven rings, the lawyer answered, maybe a bit preoccupied. “Jordan?”

  She imagined the friendly young lawyer running her hands through black curly hair, maybe a little annoyed that Jordan had interrupted her work.