by Diane Capri
When they squeezed through the mob, she would dart around the largest man she could find, putting him between herself and Flynn. Then she’d run like hell.
If she could get a head start, she could easily outrun Flynn if she kicked off the heels first. Running through the slimy streets barefoot would be disgusting, but she’d do it to stay alive.
Not a great plan, but the only one she had.
Every few seconds, Flynn jabbed her ribs to be sure she didn’t forget about the gun. Jordan edged closer to the right moment. Not too much farther now.
Six feet from what she’d chosen as the launch point, a scrawny teen with bad teeth made eye contact with her. “Wanna dance?”
“Let’s go.” Flynn jabbed the gun in her side again, harder. “Buzz off, kid.”
The teen laughed, revealing blackened teeth ruined by meth. He was high. Acting crazy. He looked up at Flynn, half grinning, half frowning. “Dude, she doesn’t wanna be with you. She’s only with you for the money. What are you, her sugar daddy?”
He leveled a stare into Jordan’s eyes and leaned close enough that she could smell his revolting breath. “Is he paying you enough, baby? Is it worth it?”
This was her chance. She could only hope Flynn couldn’t hear over the deafening music. She leaned as close to the teen’s ear as possible. “Help me.”
No reaction.
“Please. He’s got a gun.”
The teen’s eyes widened along with his mouth. He laughed. The sound competed with everything else going on in the room, yet managed to send another chill down Jordan’s body.
“We’ll play a game.” The scrawny teen moved closer to Flynn and leaned in, pulling on her arm, forcing her to separate slightly from Flynn’s gun. Jordan felt the pressure of the metal release from her side. “I get her for five minutes, then she chooses which one of us she wants.”
She turned her head back. Flynn’s anger flushed his face and flared his nostrils. He barred his teeth like an animal. He flashed the gun toward the scrawny teen and said something she couldn’t hear.
This was her chance.
She gave Flynn a jab with her elbow to buy half a moment. He staggered slightly. The scrawny teen moved in and grabbed the gun just as she leapt forward.
Flynn and the teen struggled while she slogged through the crowd like she was swimming through rough waves, breast-stroking toward that back door. Flynn could easily overpower that kid and come after her. She didn’t dare look back to see how close Flynn followed. She reached the door and rammed on the exit bar.
Before she could get out, a shot blasted behind her. Then another. And a third.
She looked back. The crowd had parted. Flynn was sprawled on the floor in a puddle of blood. The scrawny teen held Flynn’s gun, looking surprised and impressed with himself. The music shut off just in time for Jordan to hear him say, “Hey, cool! It worked!”
She forced the door open, scooted out into the alley, and pushed the door closed. Then she ran.
CHAPTER 15
Jordan reached the end of the alley and turned the corner. She ran two more blocks until she found a well-lit area where people were milling around outside a bar. She stopped to catch her breath below a neon orange Jägermeister sign.
She was alive. That was her first thought. She was alive. And Flynn was dead, or at least severely injured. Somehow. She didn’t know exactly how it happened and at the moment, it didn’t matter.
She did a quick mental inventory. Salvador would talk to the police now. Nelson and Claire were safe.
Clayton.
The police would be arriving at Club Ecstasy any second. She had no idea how that would go.
Work. News crews would be showing up. Channel 12 and the other stations would probably send a truck, hoping to get a live shot on the air for the eleven o’clock news.
Jordan’s phone vibrated inside her pocket. She fished it out. Clayton.
“Hello?” She didn’t realize until she spoke that she was still gasping for air. She noticed the night was unbearably hot and muggy. She felt cold sweat from her scalp to her soles.
“What the hell did you think you were doing?” Angry. Very angry.
“I had no choice. When Leslie botched the meeting arrangement, there was no going back. Flynn was expecting me here.”
“Your father is worried sick. He’s called everywhere looking for you. Are you trying to give him another stroke?”
“Whose fault is that? He wouldn’t have known anything about it if you hadn’t told him, now would he?”
“I wouldn’t have told him if you’d stayed out of it like we told you to. Where are you? I’m coming to pick you up.”
She told him to pick her up outside the Jägermeister bar, where people had started to give her weird looks. Then she remembered what she was wearing. The weird looks were deserved.
She glanced down at herself. And Clayton would have to see her like this. Gross! She felt a hot flush of embarrassment rise from her chest to her hairline, which made her wonder if she liked him. Did she like him? She’d never thought of him that way…but then again…he was an attractive guy. Not just any attractive guy. A hot cop with a good heart.
“You’re delirious,” she said to herself. Great. Talking aloud now, too. No wonder people thought she was crazy.
Clayton pulled up in a red Honda. He reached across and opened her door from the inside. “Get the hell in.”
She gave him a sloppy smile. “I don’t know why you’re upset.” She felt giddy now. Could be the adrenaline. Maybe relief. Maybe shock. Hard to say why, but she felt like a winner and she was prepared to celebrate. Clayton couldn’t crush her spirits. “I wore a locket. I got it all on video. I didn’t get shot. Or hurt. And the bad guy died.”
“Not so fast, champ,” Clayton said as they drove toward Ecstasy.
Ambulance lights lit the scene. A couple of paramedics wheeled a big guy on a stretcher towards an emergency vehicle.
“He survived?” Jordan asked. From all the blood she’d seen on the floor, it didn’t seem possible.
“We’ll see if he lives. I hope he does. At least long enough to be interrogated. We’re prepared to arrest two of the drug-running wannabe captains he was working with but we know there are others. We also know Flynn is just the local guy. He’s got a boss and we want him, too.” He glanced at her. “Where’d you get a gun anyway?”
“It was Flynn’s gun, and I’m not the one who shot him. Some guy at the rave did it. He was high as a kite. I didn’t see it, but I figure he ninja-grabbed the gun and turned it on Flynn.”
As they rolled past through Centro Tampa, a Channel 12 news truck arrived at Club Ecstasy. The first media to the scene. Jordan’s whole body trembled. Emotions flooded through her like a menu of highs and lows. Now, she was relieved she’d escaped the camera crews. She’d be in big trouble when her bosses figured everything out.
CHAPTER 16
Jordan thanked Clayton for the ride, stopped in to tell her dad she was okay and would explain everything in the morning. She took a quick shower and fell asleep five seconds after her head hit the pillow.
In the morning, she tossed her hair up and didn’t care that her eyes were still smudged with way too much mascara.
Nelson was already waiting for her in the lobby.
“What happened to you?” His greeting was sharp.
He’d change his tone when she told him how she’d saved their lives the night before. “Long story.”
She explained the whole thing over breakfast. She watched the emotions on his face go through the same range hers had the night before. Shocked to concerned to terrified to relieved. And she’d left out all of the truly horrifying parts.
But when she finished, he fairly beamed. “I am so thankful you didn’t tell me what you were doing before you did it.” He paused and put the stern father tone back into his voice. “And also, never do that again.”
He wheeled to the side of the table and hugged her. Jordan held him
for an extra few seconds.
“So, is Flynn in the hospital and waiting to be arrested?”
“I didn’t stick around to find out.”
A news cut-in appeared on one of the television screens above them. The scrolling headline read: MAN CRITICALLY INJURED AT TAMPA NIGHTCLUB…. ACCUSED OF MURDERING MISSING MAN TED GARFIELD…. WHOSE FLOATING BODY SERVED AS THREAT TO SHRIMP BOAT OWNER….
So it looked like the police had caught up with Salvador. He must have given his side of the story by now.
After breakfast, she called Claire. “I am so, so, so sorry to the moon and back for meddling. I should’ve never gotten involved in what Sal was up to. And I should’ve trusted your judgment in men.”
“You know I wouldn’t date a scumbag. So stop that,” Claire said. “As for the meddling, I guess you can’t help it that you have a nose for crime. I forgive you. And so does Sal. Actually we’re the ones who should be asking for your forgiveness. If it weren’t for us, you never would’ve gotten into this mess.”
“Is Sal feeling better now that Flynn is done?” Jordan asked. Clayton said Flynn had bosses. Sal’s business was still a good connection for importing drugs. He might not be in the clear yet.
Claire replied, “He’s not back to normal. Something is still bothering him. He’ll tell me eventually. What’s gonna happen to you at work, by the way? Are you fired?”
“I’m going in early today to find out. Wish me luck.” Jordan started to hang up, but stopped. “Hey, Claire. When you get a chance…will you ask Sal if that offer to stay in his pool house still stands?”
“Will do. You’ll love it there. We can be almost roomies. And you can tell me all about that cute cop I saw you with last week.”
Jordan laughed and hung up.
The fact that work hadn’t called made her a little nervous to go in. But she pulled her most victorious outfit out of her duffel bag—a bright red shirtdress—ironed it, and walked in to work with her head held high. She was pretty sure she’d won Week One in the newsroom competition with Drew.
But her main victory? No contest—keeping her dad alive.
When she walked into the newsroom, it seemed like any other day. She smiled and glanced at people, but no one met her friendly gaze. She’d hoped to make friends here, but for the first time in her life, she found herself surrounded by colleagues who weren’t friendly toward her and she had no idea why. She shrugged and kept walking. She needed another week, a month, or maybe a few months to investigate her mother’s murder. After that, she’d move on to a job where she’d have a real chance of success.
Jordan reported directly to Richard’s office and sat in the chair in front of his desk, once again braced for the worst.
He kicked back and crossed his arms. “Well, well, well.”
He smirked and his hazel eyes actually sparkled beneath his dark brows. He wasn’t pissed. She could rule that out. He seemed either amused or pleased or both.
“I guess you heard what happened,” Jordan said, tentatively.
“I talked to the police chief early this morning.” His tone was pleasant enough. “She said you were never supposed to go on that assignment last night.”
“Right. But—”
“That’s between you and the police department. Why didn’t you call us immediately after it happened? We could’ve captured some pretty dramatic scene video.”
For a moment, he frowned and her breath caught. Then, Richard smiled.
She was off the hook. She still had her job. Jordan felt like Gumby. Her very bones seemed to relax inside her limbs. Relief and something like joy bubbled up from somewhere.
“Actually….” She unclasped her locket, which she was still wearing. “I took video while I was there. It’s all recorded on a chip in this necklace. Channel 12 can have exclusive rights. I mean, after the police department, of course.”
He accepted the locket and sat back. “Sweet.”
“Fair warning, I haven’t watched it yet. There’s some pretty raunchy things that go on at those raves. Be prepared.”
“I’ll send it over to TPD today,” Richard said. “We’ll ask them to make us a copy when they’re done with it.”
“I want the locket back, though,” she said.
Jordan looked out the glass wall of Richard’s office into the newsroom and saw Theresa passing by. She opened the door and popped her head in, grinning hugely. “Did you guys see they officially named Flynn as a suspect in Kelly Barnes’ murder?”
Richard’s eyebrows arched. “They think he was the driver in the hit-and-run?”
Theresa nodded, flashed a quick wink at Jordan, and ducked out again.
“Well that guy’s been busy.” Richard turned his attention to Jordan. “You’ve had a pretty dramatic week here at Channel 12 yourself.”
Jordan nodded, nervously. “It’s been…a bit of a roller coaster.”
“How do you think you’ve performed so far? Give me a quick self-assessment.”
For the first time in a while, Jordan simply offered her most honest answer instead of words someone else wanted to hear. “I poured my heart and soul into this job. I think I’ve proven I’m one of the hardest, most badass workers you have on your side. I wish I hadn’t destroyed my smartphone, but even that wasn’t really my fault. Flynn stomped on it.”
“Yeah, about that.” Richard didn’t confirm or disagree with her self-assessment. “I can’t let you off the hook for that phone. Mostly because of budget cuts. And policy. It’s still your responsibility.”
Jordan nodded, but said nothing. She’d expected no less.
“But you need equipment to do your job. The news director is expecting a new phone soon. I’ll give you his used one. Starting today, you’ll owe the station ten dollars a week until you clear up your debt. Four hundred dollars total.”
She nodded again, pushed herself out of the chair and stood on still shaky legs, but she felt victorious all the same. Time to go, before she could get in any more trouble. At the door, she turned and asked, “What if I’m not working here for the next forty weeks?”
“You’re not the kind of girl who ducks out on her valid obligations, are you?”
“Most definitely not,” Jordan said. She glanced at the clock on Richard’s desk and headed for the door. “I can’t be late for the afternoon meeting.”
And after that, I’ve got a murder to solve.
FALSE TRUTH 4
A JORDAN FOX MYSTERY
BY DIANE CAPRI
WITH BETH DEXTER
CHAPTER 1
Port-au-Prince, Haiti
Dominique Wren remembered every detail. She’d relived each moment thousands of times. Moments divided by an invisible chasm. Before the instant her childish innocence disappeared, and After the Tonton Moun Nui kidnapped her mother.
Before, nine-year-old Dominique stood outside in the schoolyard under the hot Haitian sun, waiting. She bounced up and down on her toes and waved goodbye to her friends as they walked toward home or boarded the bus. A slight breeze cooled her skin and blew her curly hair around her shoulders. She reached up to brush a dark strand from her face. The bus pulled away and she watched until it turned the corner toward town.
Briefly, she stood in the schoolyard alone, but this was Before and she was not yet afraid.
Any moment now, Dominique’s mother would roll up in the black Chevrolet Impala. She’d be seated in the back, relaxed, dress neatly pressed, legs crossed, leafing through a magazine.
The driver was Jean Saint Louis. He spent his days attending to her mother’s every need and desire while Dominique’s father attended to patients, which was as it should be. Her father was a very important man. The entire town respected him just as much as her mother, which made Dominique proud and patient.
Dominique adored Saint Louis. He was kind and funny and often played with her when they waited for her mother or her father to join them in the Impala. Her father said she was too old for such games, but her mother only smiled.
Dominique pretended she was a princess, just like The Princess Bride movie she loved to watch. Saint Louis played along, to her never-ending delight.
When she saw the Impala turn the corner that day, Dominique laughed and bounced a little more. Carefully, waiting for departing children to step aside, Saint Louis approached the school’s circular driveway. He was not a single moment late. After he brought the Impala to a complete stop and Saint Louis emerged from behind the wheel, she ran to the car.
“Good afternoon, Miss,” Saint Louis said when he opened the back passenger door with a deep bow and a twinkle in his eye, as he always did, as if she were really a princess instead of a pretend one.
She giggled and replied formally, “Thank you, Saint Louis.”
She slid into the back seat and her mother wrapped her arms around her. Dominique nuzzled close. She loved everything about her mother. Everything. Dominique inhaled her mother’s favorite perfume, which infused the warm air with the unmistakable sweet scent of gardenia. The perfume was an expensive gift from her father and Dominique believed her mother was the only woman in all of Haiti who wore it.
Her mother set her magazine aside. “Tell me about your day at school.”
The same thing she said every day, as sincerely as if she’d never made the request before, as if something about Dominique’s life would ever be different from one day to the next. The best part was that while Dominique talked, her mother listened intently. Exactly the same way she listened to Dominique’s very important father.
Telling her mother every small detail of her life was one of Dominique’s favorite things to do. She felt quite grown up as she disclosed the day’s events and her mother always knew the perfect thing to ask or say no matter what the topic.
Both of Dominique’s parents loved music and she often sang for them in the evenings, always garnering praise and love and sometimes even special treats if her performance was especially good.
