by Diane Capri
Her heart rate doubled instantly.
She’d stood there often over the past few days. In daylight, it was one of two doors that offered spectacular views of Tampa Bay beyond the property’s edge.
She hadn’t opened those doors this morning.
She reached into her bag for her phone as she stepped cautiously toward the door.
She grabbed the brass door handle with one hand and, at the same time, pressed the speed dial Clayton had set up to connect her quickly to the officers out front.
Heavy footfalls echoed from across the room before she could do anything more.
He closed the distance fast.
His thick right arm circled tight around her waist and lifted her straight off the ground. His clothes and skin emitted an aroma cloud of fine tobacco.
Jordan thrashed wildly and screamed. “Let me go!”
He knocked her phone out of her hand and it slid across the polished wood floor.
She was five-feet-seven-inches tall and she weighed one forty. He couldn’t hold her like this forever. She thrashed and yelled and thrashed again.
He clenched her waist tighter and jerked her back against his chest in an effort to stabilize her.
Her movements were restricted now, but she kicked his legs and punched with her fists and screamed and wiggled as much as possible. With the French door open and the neighbors asleep, maybe her voice would carry all the way to her detail out front.
He seemed unfazed. His left hand reached into a pocket. He pulled out a cloth liberally dosed with pungent chloroform.
The bleachy odor. She knew what was coming. She pressed her lips closed.
He and clapped the cloth over her mouth and nose and held it there as he forced the back of her head against his chest. Her lips were pressed tightly against her teeth by his huge paw holding the cloth over her mouth.
No more yelling was possible.
The bleachy fumes irritated her eyes and saline tears rushed down her cheeks. She blinked rapidly, but the fumes stabbed her corneas every time her eyelids opened.
She wiggled and thrashed and tried to make noise without breathing.
If she inhaled the chloroform she’d quickly be unconscious. He had to be counting on that because she was heavy and thrashing as if her life depended on it.
“You’re done. Give it up,” He said.
She didn’t recognize the smoke-roughened voice.
He was right, though. He was taller, heavier, and stronger. He would win. Eventually. Her only hope was to outlast him.
Jordan held her breath and continued to struggle.
You’re an athlete, Jordan. A high school swim champ. A runner forever.
Her arms flailed and her legs kicked. She punched his sides and slammed his shins. All to no effect.
Don’t give up. You can hold your breath a good long time.
But how long had she been holding her breath already? She felt her body weakening with fatigue.
You can break free.
She could.
She would.
Her head felt woozy, maybe from lack of oxygen, maybe exhaustion and fear. She squeezed her eyes closed against the nasty fumes.
His grip held her tight and hard. She noticed the back of her head was pressed against something harder than his chest. Body armor, maybe.
Keep fighting, Jordan. You can do it.
Her arms felt rubbery. She dropped them to her sides.
Her torso was tired.
His thick vice-like grip on her waist squeezed her diaphragm painfully.
Kick, Jordan. Kick.
She felt lightheaded. Behind her closed eyelids, multi-colored light circles seemed to pop like flashbulbs on an old fashioned camera.
Is this it, then? After everything she’d been through? Would she die here?
Who would take care of her dad?
Dad!
The idea infused her with a brief spurt of renewed strength. She managed a few more weak kicks.
Tired. So tired.
Her thrashing had not loosened his grip. She’d use a different strategy.
She stopped struggling.
Her body relaxed. Her eyelids remained closed.
He didn’t release her. He wasn’t fooled.
She waited.
She’d lost track of time, but maybe he’d pressed the chloroformed cloth to her face her less than a minute ago?
She could suppress the urge to breathe for four to five minutes before she passed out and her body resumed its normal functions.
She had to bet that he couldn’t hold her weight off the ground another three minutes.
As her last act of self-defense, she refused to inhale.
CHAPTER 3
The French door slammed open. “Let her go.”
Jordan’s eyelids popped open but she dared not breathe. The chloroformed cloth was still pressed hard to her mouth and nose.
The police. Guns drawn and pointed straight at her. One officer also held a flashlight. The beam illuminated his beefy arm around her waist.
From the shadows by the curving staircase, a single shot rang out. The two officers took cover. Another shot was fired.
Nonsensically, Jordan wondered why the shots were so much quieter than the practice rounds she fired at the gun range with Clayton.
Jordan’s oxygen-deprived brain finally registered that there were two men, in the house, not one. Why hadn’t she noticed that before?
One of the officers fired toward movement behind Jordan somewhere. The man holding her off the ground seized the chaotic diversion to release his grip.
Jordan fell to the floor. The cloth fell away from her face and she shoved it across the floor before she gulped great mouthfuls of air.
Her attacker bolted out the open back door.
The shooter followed, firing again.
Both officers ran after the two men. She heard one officer shouting for backup into his radio.
More shots were fired, but Jordan couldn’t see who fired or where the shots landed. She remained prone on the floor, drawing oxygen into her body. She began to feel light headed before her breathing fell into a normal rhythm again.
From her vantage point on the floor, she saw her phone under a table. She scrambled to pick it up.
Then, she heard a splash. She rushed out onto the patio see what was happening at the water’s edge. A speedboat at the dock, two men on board.
“Call the boat patrols!” One officer yelled to the other.
Twin outboard engines roared to life in quick succession and the boat leapt into the darkness.
Jordan pushed two buttons on her phone to call Clayton.
“Hang on. I’ll be right there.” Like he could sense the problem, almost. But he’d probably heard the officer radio for backup.
“Come fast. Send boat patrols. Helicopters.” She forced her chest to rise and fall rapidly enough to reclaim speech. “Two men. Speedboat. Two engines. Headed toward the Gulf.”
She listened for helicopters and patrol boats, but didn’t hear them. The two men were probably too far away by now. The search would be offshore. She continued watching the water, trance-like.
Five minutes later, Clayton arrived. He ran around the house to the pool patio and hugged her with all his muscles. “You okay?” He pushed back and held her shoulders, looking her in the eye.
She nodded. “Thanks for coming.”
He looked around. “You’re here alone?”
“Me and the officers. They’re out back. Waiting for crime scene techs or something. Who else would be here?”
He shrugged. “I dunno. I thought maybe—well, I’m staying here tonight.”
She pushed his arms back gently, but firmly. “Clayton, there are two officers outside already. You’ve got more on the way. I think they can handle my security.”
He was shaking his head even before she finished talking. “Those guys were pros. They were inside the house, Jordan. You don’t even have a gun here, do you?”
Clayton had been pushing her to improve her shooting skills and apply for a concealed weapons permit. But like so many other things she’d promised to do, that one hadn’t been accomplished, either.
“Look, be smart about this.” He’d changed his tone from bossy to persuasive. “I’m staying on the couch and I won’t take no for an answer.”
“Thank you.” Jordan was too tired to protest any more. And besides, extra security sounded pretty good right now. “Who were those two men? El Pulpo?”
“Don’t know yet. Probably. We’ve got work to do, but you should sleep. You’ll have another long day tomorrow.” Clayton grabbed bottled water from the fridge. “We’ll take a statement from you in the morning. Detectives from the human trafficking bust will interview you before work, too. They’ve got questions.”
She considered arguing with him, but she couldn’t muster the energy. Whatever they learned tonight, she’d ask about later. The house and grounds were well guarded now. Maybe she could sleep. She trudged up the stairs and fell into bed still wearing her work clothes.
CHAPTER 4
Jordan’s phone rang not three minutes past five a.m. She groaned, rolled over, and buried the phone under her pillow for a half a moment before picking up after the third ring.
“Jordan Fox.” As she said her name, she realized she hadn’t checked to see who was calling.
“Ms. Fox, this is Detective Edward Grey from Tampa Police. We met briefly last night.”
“Um hm.” Jordan’s eyes were still closed and her head filled with sleep fog, but she remembered him. Early- to mid-fifties. Full head of gray hair. Which was how she remembered his name. When she’d introduced herself, he’d said he remembered her mother’s case. He’d offered condolences. Nice guy. He’d brought her a cup of black coffee about midnight. She’d exchanged cards with him because she wanted to ask about her mom at some point.
Detective Grey was still talking. “I’m sorry to bother you so early. We’ve got a narrow window of opportunity here and we’d like your help. It’s a little complicated.” His voice trailed off, perhaps expecting a response.
“Um hm. I see.” Jordan didn’t see. Her eyes were still closed, for one thing. She would be so much more helpful after another three hours sleep and a caffeine IV.
“We’re holding this ship in port, but we can’t hold it much longer without a court order, according to the prosecutor’s office. We’ve got Maria Ortiz here with us. We think she can help us get the facts we need, but the poor girl is terrified. She seems to trust you.” He paused again.
If Jordan had been more alert, she might have understood what he was hinting about. As it was, she mumbled a little white lie. “I see.”
His voice was less tentative when he spoke again. “Look, I hate to ask. But could come down here? Help make Maria feel more comfortable so she’ll help us find the evidence?” When Jordan didn’t answer immediately, he said, “It shouldn’t take long. An hour, tops.”
Jordan’s entire body seemed to scream in protest when she struggled to wake up. She pushed herself upright and sat on the edge of the bed. She glanced out the window where she saw nothing but darkness. Too early to get up. Need more sleep.
What did he want her to do? She barely knew Maria. She shook her head as if to clear her confusion.
“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 sa
id. “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.”
