by Diane Capri
“Jordan, as a lawyer, I have a duty to protect your father’s records.” Jenny took a deep breath and explained, gently, as if she thought Jordan might cry and she didn’t want that to happen. “These file materials are not something I can share with you unless your father consents.”
“Ah,” Jordan said, because she couldn’t think of anything else to say. “What can you tell me right now, though?”
“That’s just it. I’ve looked at the file. I really shouldn’t even have confirmed that Mr. Grantham represented your dad or that the file existed. So I can tell you nothing more at all. Not without Nelson’s permission.” She pushed an unsealed, business-sized ivory envelope across the desk to Jordan.
The envelope had Jennifer Lane, Esquire, and her address embossed in the top left corner. Jordan didn’t touch it.
“I prepared this consent form for you. Just have Nelson sign it and then I can release the file. I’ll discuss it with you, too.” Jenny waited a beat or two again. “If you really want all of that to happen.”
Jordan’s head wagged. Her lips pressed into a firm line. She couldn’t ask her dad to sign a consent form for this file. If she barely raised the least little thing related to Brenda’s murder with him he refused to discuss it. If she pushed him, even a little, he became angry. He’d made it clear he would not talk to her about the murder. Period.
Getting her dad to sign was out of the question. Never happen.
Wait. What did she say?
“What do you mean, if I really want the file? Of course, I do.” She wouldn’t be sitting here in this chair otherwise, now would she?
Jenny seemed uncomfortable. She took another deep breath and sat up straighter. She was nice. Under different circumstances, Jordan might have wanted her as a friend.
When she spoke this time, though, it was straight talk. No nonsense. “Look, Jordan, you’ve got a raw deal here, right? Your mother was murdered. The killer has never been brought to justice. Your dad was investigated as a person of interest. I understand he had a stroke not long after that, right?”
Jordan nodded, barely able to see through the glassy tears welling in her eyes. She blinked furiously.
“I understand that you want answers and you want closure. All of that will happen. This is still an open case. The police will solve it. They will.” She looked down at her hands and waited a bit. Then she looked directly at Jordan and her voice was softer. “This file contains a lot of disturbing information, Jordan. It’s not anything I’d want to read about my parents. If you hire that investigator, why not let me send it directly to him instead?”
Jordan’s spine posed rigidly straight. She inhaled deeply and clasped her hands together. She looked down and blinked a few times before she looked up again. When she spoke, five years of steely determination came through in her tone.
“My mother was murdered when I was sixteen. I’m twenty-two now. Because I was young, they shielded me from most of the details. But I need to know what happened. I need to know who killed her. And I need to know why.” Jordan’s tone became stronger with each word. “If there’s anything in that file to help me, I need to see it. Even if it is disturbing. Even if I really don’t want to know. Surely you understand that?”
“I do.” Jenny nodded and pushed the envelope a little closer to Jordan. “Get Nelson to sign the consent form. Bring it back and the file is all yours.”
She should have asked Jordan to broker world peace in the war on terror. Or spin straw into gold. Either test would have been a thousand times easier than getting Nelson to let Jordan investigate Brenda’s murder. He’d never go for it and Jenny Lane probably knew it.
“I can’t get dad’s consent today because he’s in therapy.” Which was mostly true. “But I have the day off and I wanted to spend it looking at the file. Since I can’t do that, is there anywhere else I might be able to find more details about the murder investigation?”
Jenny shook her head again. Her lips pursed and puckered and she moved them around like she was swishing mouthwash. Thinking about how to answer, maybe.
“Please,” Jordan said.
Jenny pressed the center of her forehead with two fingers, as if her third eye might have the solution. Finally, she said, “I understand there was a press conference. The police chief released some details of the crime and asked for help from the public.”
Jordan’s pulse quickened. A lead. A real lead. “I don’t remember that. Do you know the date?”
“I don’t.” Jenny sighed before she said, “But you work at Channel 12, don’t you?”
Too bad she couldn’t just waltz in to the station and search through the thousands of archive tapes until she found one for a short press conference held sometime in the past five years that went absolutely nowhere.
Wouldn’t Patricia have a field day with that?
CHAPTER 9
She didn’t want to call Clayton Vaughn at all really, because she didn’t want to lead him on. He’d become increasingly flirtatious.
Right after Evan Groves was arrested, Clayton had asked her out. He said it wasn’t a date. He said she was always getting herself in dangerous situations and should learn how to shoot a gun to protect herself. Which made sense. So she went.
But after the shooting lesson, he’d invited her to dinner. After dinner, he’d driven her home and lingered too long in the driveway talking about more shooting lessons.
She knew where he wanted their relationship to go and that wasn’t the direction she was prepared to travel. Especially with Tom Clark fresh on her mind.
Yes, Clayton was hot. She liked him. And he was a great source for her inside Tampa P.D. For all of those reasons, she didn’t want to offend him, either.
Now, she needed help to find out about the press conference and learn whatever she could about what was still a closed police file that she already knew she couldn’t access any other way. And she didn’t have a better or faster way to get it.
She made the call from Jenny Lane’s parking lot before she could talk herself out of it.
“Jordan, there you are.” He answered with way too much friendly inflection. “I don’t think you answered my text last night.”
She’d keep the conversation strictly to business, and business-toned, too. “You texted me at like 10:30 p.m. Sorry, I was busy.”
“Are you mad at me?”
“Just kinda shaken up, you know?” Bring it back to business. “So Aaron Robinson. It’s still sinking in that Evan Groves had an alias. Do you know what kind of deal he’s looking for in Ruby Quinn’s murder?” Ruby Quinn had been a nurse at Plant University and a friend of Amy’s, too.
“Not yet.” Clayton’s tone returned to business, too. “As far as I know he’s saying he didn’t do it.”
“Do you believe that?”
“Doesn’t matter what I believe. But no. That’s bull. Hang on.” He’d covered the phone and Jordan waited a couple of seconds. “So you looked up his real name. You found the cat-killing saga?”
“Yeah. And the car wreck. And that he’s done four years already for that. Unbelievable.” She was looking for an opening to ask about the press conference. She’d already researched everything out there about Aaron Robinson and Clayton hadn’t offered anything new.
“I’m gonna have to go, Jordan. Anything else right now?”
“What a psycho. He was dissecting the poor cats and he laughed when he was arrested for the car wreck. I hope he goes away for Ruby’s murder for life.” Jordan tapped her foot rapidly on Hermes’ floor mats. Her mind was racing at twice that speed. “I know a lot of facts haven’t been released about Ruby Quinn’s death yet, but it just occurred to me. What if, um—I don’t even want to say this out loud. Forget it, you guys have already probably thought of it.”
“Hang on.” He covered the phone again and Jordan waited. “What is it?”
“Well I was just thinking if Ruby was cut, you know, it might be a way to link Evan to the crime.”
“A
aron.”
“Sorry. Aaron.”
Clayton’s tone was serious and he was clearly preoccupied now, too. “You know it was an overdose of that illegal Super Adderall drug? From El Pulpo, your pal Salvador Caster’s drug cartel? The stuff from Haiti? That’s what killed her.”
“Right.” Jordan dropped her shoulders and plopped both feet flat on the car mats. “Yeah. I do know.” She pursed her lips. “But if there are any details from the crime scene that investigators aren’t releasing, well, you know what to do with that info.”
“Give it to you?” This time, he sounded impatient and a little annoyed and ready to go.
That’s not what she had in mind, but if he was offering…”Exactly.” She could feel that he was about to hang up. She rushed to the next topic. “You know what I keep forgetting to mention? Evan—I mean Aaron—Aaron entered and left the clinic that night with a backpack. But when he came back to his car later, he didn’t have the backpack any more. Someone should find that backpack.”
“Look, Jordan. I’ve told you before.”
Oh boy. Now I’ve ticked him off and I haven’t even asked my real question about the press conference yet.
“We’ll do the police work. You stick to reporting what happens, okay?”
“Of course, but—”
“Gotta go. Sorry. I’ll call later.” He hung up.
Crap!
CHAPTER 10
Jordan could just see the edge of the park from where she stood at the window in Claire’s downtown apartment. Hordes of people already flocked to the big grassy square for the weekend music festival. Stages were set up, and she could see a few large speakers if she craned her neck.
Claire popped out of her room ten minutes later. She looked like a walking music festival in her slim jeans and multicolored top. Stunning.
They stepped into the apartment hallway, locked the door, and Claire pressed the button for the descending elevator. “I applied to four grad schools yesterday.”
Jordan squealed and hugged her. “That’s great news!”
“It will be. If I get accepted. Maybe.” Claire sighed. “What did you do with your day off?”
The elevator arrived and Jordan was saved from confessing the failed meeting with Jenny Lane and the even less productive phone call with Clayton. By the time they entered the elevator and pressed the right buttons and talked to the other two travelers, Claire had become distracted. Good.
When they exited the elevator, she asked, “Have you heard from Tom Clark at all?”
“Nope.” Might have been the beer influencing her judgment, but Jordan had adored him at the time. She’d been so distracted since Wednesday night that she’d hardly thought of him at all. “You know I’m busy. Plus, I don’t wanna force anything. If he’s not interested enough to call me, I’m not gonna worry about it. Plenty of fish in the sea.”
“Like Clayton? Or Drew, even?”
Jordan groaned and hooked her arm through Claire’s. “Come on. I don’t have all day.”
The crisp October air greeted them outside. Claire’s place was a short walking distance from the Tampa Park where activities were scheduled almost every weekend. Today’s music festival featured various indie artists, time with Claire, the water and glorious weather. She was so lucky to have landed here at her dream television station…even if she didn’t have her dream job. Not yet, anyway.
But she’d get there, she just knew it. Jordan Fox, Investigative Reporter.
Ten minutes later, Jordan and Claire were dancing in the front row to an alternative rock band concert overlooking the Hills River. Like they had danced in high school when they were light-hearted and carefree. Before Jordan’s entire world fell apart.
Claire danced a circle around Jordan, then jabbed her in the ribs.
“OW! What the hell!”
Claire nodded in the direction of the food trucks lining the side of the park opposite the Hills River. “Beer trucks.”
Jordan pressed her lips into a fine line. “Beer before noon?”
“There’s an Infidel truck.” Claire’s grin was wide and sparkling. “Tom could be there.”
Next thing she knew, Claire was dragging her by the hand. Seconds later, Jordan stood sweaty-face-to-sweet-face with Tom Clark at the truck’s sample window. And he was as adorable as she remembered. Dammit.
Jordan’s whole body vibrated and a giant grin popped onto her face before she could squelch it. She forced a quick frown cover up. She’d wanted Tom to call her. He hadn’t. So why was she so happy to see him all of a sudden?
Before she could put the smackdown on her joy, she saw his eyes light up, too. Thank God.
“Jordan Fox!”
Was he making fun of the way she’d introduced herself to him Wednesday night? Be cool. Be normal. Be cool.
“Good to see you again, Tom.” Maybe she’d taken it a touch too formal this time. But that was better than drooling groupie land.
His words tumbled out like a kid’s marbles. “This—this is actually unbelievable running into you because I thought I could get your number from Theresa but she hasn’t given it to me.” Jordan didn’t remember Tom speaking so quickly the other night. And she didn’t remember his eyes were azure blue, either. “I was hoping to call you.”
Surely she hadn’t made such a positive impression on him that he was practically tripping over his words, as effervescent as his beer. Not cool, calm, collected Tom. Theresa must have pushed him somehow.
He held up a plastic cup and smiled like a boy showing his mother a favorite toy. “El Jefe?”
She shifted on her feet. She eyed the exits. He was making her nervous. Again. “Thank you, but I have to work.”
“Theresa said you’re a runner, right?” Tom seemed to notice Claire’s presence for the first time and nodded toward her. “I wanted to invite you—and Claire, too—to participate in the 5K Race that Infidel is sponsoring.” He licked his lips quickly before his cheeks puffed up with smile.
Jordan’s head wagged automatically.
He followed up fast. “You might be busy. Or maybe you don’t—it’s up to you. No obligation. But I—I’m gonna do it. I’m gonna run. It’s just a 5K.”
Maybe it was only a friendly offer. But she liked it. “No, yeah, I do run sometimes. Count me in.”
She felt like winking at him, but that wasn’t her move.
What was her move in a situation like this? Had she ever been in a situation like this?
Before she could figure that one out, Jordan’s phone rang. It could be her dad. Or maybe Jenny Lane had reconsidered and would let her see the file today before work. Or Clayton. He’d said he would call back, but he hadn’t yet.
She checked her phone screen. Richard Grady. Executive producer. Her boss.
“Jordan Fox, Channel 12.” She answered the way she’d heard other reporters answer their phones. She might have also been trying to impress Tom. Just a little. She bit down on her grin.
“Hey, can you come in early today?” It seemed like a question, but Richard wasn’t really asking. “Couple folks called in sick and we’re short staffed.”
It was 10:33 a.m. The day shift had started more than an hour ago. She didn’t want to leave Claire. Or, she drew a quick breath, Tom. “I can be there in half an hour.”
“Perfect.” Richard seemed confident that she could do the job, and she liked that. Maybe she was making more progress in the competition with Drew Hodges than she feared. That dream job might be closer than she’d thought. “I want you to turn in a story on the developing Isabella De Luca controversy.”
“Okay.” Turn in a story. Sure. She could do that. But Isabella de-who? Jordan had no idea who that was. Better to keep her mouth shut and be thought a fool than to open it and remove all doubt, though.
“I’d like you to pursue a local angle,” he said, talking over her silence. Thankfully.
“The story’s for six? I can do that.” How would she find a local angle in so short a time? She had
no idea. But she’d make it happen because she’d told him she would. Somehow. “See you soon.”
She disconnected.
Claire’s big lamb eyes met Jordan’s. “Bad news?”
Jordan sighed. “I am so, so sorry.” She paused and looked at the park-full of people having a blast. Then at Claire. Then at Tom. She was sorry. So why was her heart beating faster all of a sudden? “They called me in to work”
Without a blink, Claire said, “That’s great! They need you. I’ll bet they didn’t call Drew Hodges, right?” She glanced around and bobbed her head to the beat of the music. “I’ll hang out here. I’ll call a friend to meet me and maybe Tom will let me chill with him ’til then.”
“You’re the best.” Jordan gave Claire’s arm a squeeze and turned her gaze to Tom.
He broke eye contact, then reconnected quickly. “You don’t have to sell me on the excitement of hard work. I love my job. I’ll catch ya later.”
Jordan barely heard Tom’s vague goodbye because the switch in her brain had already flipped into work mode. She covered the ground to her car in no time at all, thinking about her story angle all the way.
She thrived on challenge, and she was dying to figure out what this Isabella De-Who controversy was all about.
God, she loved the news business. Nothing was more exciting.
Well, almost nothing.
Tom Clark was proving to be more exciting than she’d expected, now wasn’t he?
CHAPTER 11
On the short drive to the station, Jordan called Theresa. “So, they want me to come in early today.”
“What?” Theresa screeched the word. “Hell no. Don’t let them yank your schedule around like that.”
Jordan hesitated. “It’s not a regular thing. It’s the first time—”
“Next time say no. They won’t hate you for it.” Theresa sounded like a mom dispensing dating advice. “If anything, they’ll respect you for standing your ground.”
Theresa’s advice was usually good, but Jordan knew she had made the right choice. Besides, she didn’t want to say no. “I’ve done enough ‘ground standing’ in the last few weeks to last me a couple years. Or at least until I get the job.”
