Mr. January: Mercer's War Book 1

by Jordan Dane

  Mr. January

  Mercer’s War Series – Book 1

  By Jordan Dane

  Mr. January

  Copyright 2017 by Jordan Dane

  Published by Jordan Dane

  Copyright 2017 Cover Art by Croco Designs

  Formatting Services by Wizards in Publishing

  All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the author.

  This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental

  Mr. January

  Mercer’s War Series – Book 1

  Zoey Meager stares into an inferno as she struggles against two firefighters while an abandoned warehouse is gutted by a raging fire. She is desperately afraid her best friend Kaity is trapped inside, held hostage by a merciless gang of human traffickers. Denver SWAT has blocked anyone from getting near the blaze—but the police don’t know Zoey.

  She ignores the danger and races inside a firestorm, but she’s not alone. A mysterious man dressed in black is wounded. When he tries to escape her and the police, Zoey grapples him to the ground, convinced he knows where Kaity is. In Zoey’s oxygen deprived brain, she’s sure he’ll kill her, but she won’t give up. The man is her only connection to a friend closer than a sister.

  After the fire, Detective Estefan Cruz finds the bodies of three young women, bound and gagged in a locked storeroom. The blaze had been deliberately set to kill the witnesses. An unconscious Zoey Meager is found outside the charred building—a woman with more secrets and courage than sense—but the detective is suspicious. Is Zoey the only witness or did she have something to do with the horrific deaths? After she disappears, Detective Cruz is sure she’s hiding something.

  Distrusted by the police and tailed by a sinister white van, Zoey is forced to hunt her mystery man alone—a dangerous stranger with a large black dog, completely devoted to its shadowy master.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  About the Author

  Bibliography

  Dedication

  To Debbie & Denise

  Sisters make the best friends.

  Dear Readers,

  I’ve been blessed with very dear girlfriends in my lifetime. (You know who you are.) They have gotten me through hard times and hilarious times. The character of Zoey Meager in this book risks everything for her bestie Kaity—even her life. If any of my dearest friends need someone to drive their white Ford Bronco, toss me the keys. I’m in. This book is for the sisterhood of the traveling wine bottle.

  I love a brooding angsty man and Mr. January pushes all my buttons. He’s got a thirst for unconventional justice and has recruited an eccentric team to carry out his missions and back his play. A mysterious woman benefactor covers his sweet backside. This is book #1 in a new series for me – Mercer’s War. I hope you enjoy the action-packed tale of Zoey Meager and Mr. January.

  One of the biggest hurdles for an author is ‘visibility’ online. A rating or review on Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and Goodreads is invaluable, and very much appreciated. Honest reviews and ratings boost a book’s placement in searches and that increases sales and discoverability. Please consider rating/reviewing this book and thank you for your support.

  Jordan Dane

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  Chapter 1

  Denver, Colorado

  Midnight

  “My friend could be inside. Please! You can’t just let her die.”

  The heat of the flames seared her body, but Zoey Meager didn’t care. She seethed against the two firemen holding her back. When she heard another explosion from the three-story warehouse, she raised an arm to cover her face and cringed as more windows blew out. Glass pummeled the ground like molten rain and black smoke mixed with red embers to spiral into the night sky.

  “Let me go in. I’ll take my chances.” She struggled against the two burly firemen.

  “No one goes inside.” A familiar voice cut through the din.

  Larger than life and dressed in turnout gear, Sam Riggs blocked her path and placed a gloved hand on her shoulder. She knew the fireman from the hospital where she worked as a nurse.

  “Police say we have a potential hostage situation, Zoey,” he said. “It’s not safe for my men, or anyone. I’m sorry. We have to stand down until we get the ‘all clear’ from the police.”

  When she saw the pained look on his face, she stopped fighting. He hated this as much as she did. The Denver SWAT team—dressed in full tactical gear in their navy BDUs—had established a perimeter. Even if she found the guts to run into a burning building, she didn’t know if she could evade a highly trained SWAT unit.

  She stared into the raging fire and hopelessness consumed her. Tears stung her eyes and drained down her cheeks. Kaity. She’d been sure this time. Now she prayed she’d been wrong with all her heart as the fire destroyed everything.

  “I’m sorry, Zoey.” Riggs gripped her shoulder before he let her go. “Real sorry.”

  She knew Riggs and his men resented being sidelined when lives were at stake. If a gunman held hostages inside, she understood why police had taken control of the scene.

  Zoey quit fighting the two men who braced her arms until they released her. She sank into the shadows, feeling useless, and took a deep breath. She slumped against the hood of a police cruiser with its spiraling light bar and stared up at the beams of red and blue cutting through the darkness, with her mind reeling.

  Firefighters stood to her right. They could only watch as flames ravaged the abandoned warehouse. Each face had a grim expression colored by regret. She understood the anger of being forced to accept defeat before the fight had begun.

  Dense smoke tainted the acrid air and an intense red glow painted the pitch-black sky. Ambulances and police vehicles continued to arrive—Code 3—with bystanders and news crews gathering in the distance. The scene looked and sounded chaotic, but nothing distracted her from imagining the horror her friend Kaity could be facing inside.

  She pulled out her cell phone and raised it to her ear, listening to the last message she’d received from Kaity—a message she couldn’t delete. She hadn’t played it for anyone. Oh, Kaity, I’m so sorry. Zoey felt a lump in her throat and shut her eyes to pray, hoping God would hear her. When she opened her eyes again, she saw movement inside the warehouse.

  Someone lurked in the shadows.

  “Kaity?” she whispered.

  This time she wouldn’t let anyone stop her.

  ***

  Minutes later

  Zoey crept along a back wall and scaled a fence to drop to the other side. Two large loading bays were dead ahead. She crouched in the dark, looking for the best way in when she heard the sound of a faint whimper. Zoey turned toward the noise.

  What the hell?

  A massive black dog sat on its haunches not five yards from her. She braced for an attack, but the dog didn’t appear interested in her. It looked more like a lumbering bear with wise and soulful eyes, as if it weren’t an animal at all. It stared into the w
arehouse with its ears perked and eyes alert. Its feet were restless as if it would run, but it stayed put, rooted in place.

  “What’s up, big guy?”

  The dog didn’t waver. Even if she’d been a T-bone, the fierce-looking animal wouldn’t have budged. But before she gave the dog a second thought, Zoey saw a police tactical team emerge from the shadows. If she didn’t move fast, the cops would block her only way into the building.

  “Sorry, boy. You’re on your own,” she whispered.

  Sticking to the shadows, she raced for the delivery ramp and ducked inside the building. Everything turned black. She couldn’t see her hand in front of her face until her eyes adjusted. Her breaths became shallow out of necessity. Too much smoke made it impossible to take a full breath.

  With her hands out in front of her, she found a perimeter wall and felt her way to a door and into a larger section of the warehouse. Her stinging eyes desperately searched for Kaity.

  Please, God. Help me find her.

  As she peered through the murky air, she tore off a sleeve of her T-shirt and searched for water. From her work at the hospital, she knew that smoke inhalation was the leading cause of death from fires. When she found a utility sink and a faucet, she doused her cotton sleeve in water and pulled it over her head to cover her nose and mouth.

  She’d have only minutes to rush through the building. It had to be enough. But when the smoke became too thick, Zoey knew what to do. She dropped to her knees and crawled. Every second turned into an eternity. The damp cloth across her face steamed in the intense heat as she called out to Kaity. It didn’t take her long to realize she had to conserve energy.

  Within minutes the fire would surround her—and she’d run out of time.

  Move it. Now!

  Everywhere she searched, the rooms glowed in blood red amidst choking black smoke. Flames belched through doorways and consumed everything in sight. The scorching heat burned her skin through her clothes. Even the hair on her arms singed when she got too close to the fire and Zoey smelled her hair smoldering.

  She forced her mind to focus on her search, despite her growing fear, but another danger posed a problem.

  Not knowing what had caught fire, the closed-in structure made it a real possibility that super heated gases, carbon monoxide or hydrogen cyanide might build inside the dilapidated warehouse. She’d learned from firemen when she treated victims that a rolling structure fire could annihilate an older building in a hurry, but toxic fumes could kill anyone long before the fire got to them. Would she even know the gas was killing her?

  Panic ate at her resolve, but she kept going.

  Zoey had searched most of the first floor without a sign of Kaity or anyone else. A couple of back rooms were all that remained. With two floors above her, she had to cover ground without wasting time. Until she got upstairs, she had no idea how bad the fire would be higher up.

  She pushed herself farther down the hall, making her way to every door, but a loud sound caught her off guard.

  “What the—?” She stopped crawling. “Kaity?”

  Zoey heard a bang. It jarred her and made her jump. Loud splintering cracks sounded like gunfire, but with the noise reverberating off brick in the cavernous space, she couldn’t tell which way it came from.

  “Kaity!” she cried.

  As the heat intensified, she crawled faster and deeper into the storehouse, gagging and coughing. She almost turned back, but she decided to scramble toward the last open door. Whoever had set the blaze must’ve done it nearby. The flames were more concentrated toward the rear of the first level.

  When she detected a vaguely familiar chemical odor in the air, she realized she’d smelled it before, but she couldn’t place it. The fire must’ve been started using an accelerant, but if the rumor of hostages being held was true, who would’ve set the fire? Why?

  A man ran from the last room. He didn’t see her on the floor and tripped over her. His boots smacked hard against her ribs. The blow shocked her and knocked the wind from her lungs. When she took a tumble, her skin scraped rough brick and pain racked her body.

  Zoey smelled blood when the man toppled over her. The coppery tainted scent came off him.

  “Stop. Who are you? Where’s Kaity?” she screamed. Her vision blurred and her head spun.

  Don’t black out. You lose it now and you’re dead.

  Dressed in black, the intruder loomed over her like a nightmare, but she didn’t hesitate. Zoey grabbed his jacket in her fist and tightened her grip. When he winced, she noticed the blood draining down his sleeve. He’d been stabbed or shot. Her eyes trailed down to the back of his hand where she saw a tattoo wrapped around his wrist—the head of a snake.

  “Police…they’re surrounding the building. You can’t get away with this.” She refused to give up.

  “Let go. Now.” His deep gritty voice prickled her skin and her throat clenched tight at the sheer size of the man.

  He ignored her and struggled to his feet, but Zoey refused to let go. He was the only clue she had for what happened. With her other hand, she grappled for his leg and yanked. He hit the floor with a miserable groan. She crawled toward him and climbed onto his back, but he flipped her to the ground and pinned her.

  “You know where she is. I know you do.” Zoey bucked under his weight until she saw stars. She pummeled him with her fists, but her muscles grew weaker the longer she struggled. In seconds, she lost feeling in her arms and legs.

  Sheer panic mixed with a deathlike indifference as she thrashed against him. In the thickening smoke, she couldn’t breathe and her lungs burned from the strain. He loomed over her as her world faded into darkness, marred only by spinning points of light as her final trace of consciousness left her.

  Zoey was dying—and she knew it.

  Chapter 2

  St. Joseph’s Hospital

  Denver, Colorado

  After 2:00 a.m.

  “Can you tell me your name?” A woman’s voice. “Open your eyes for me?”

  Zoey forced her eyes open and winced with the pain. Every inch of her body ached. A blurred image hovered over her. Slowly colors bled into clarity and a face took shape.

  A woman’s face.

  “There you are.” She wore blue scrubs and she smiled. “Stay with me. You’re at St. Joseph’s Hospital. Can you tell me your name?”

  “Z-Zoey…M-Meager.” She grimaced. “St. Joseph’s? How—?”

  She could’ve told the woman she worked as a nurse at another hospital—and maybe earned an insider advantage—but decided against being a team player.

  “Do you remember the fire?” the nurse asked.

  Fire? Yes, I remember.

  She had to focus and keep her mind clear. She refused to be sick, but she had to know what could happen to her. Smoke inhalation symptoms could manifest up to thirty-six hours later. Pulmonary edema was a real possibility. The hospital would want her to stay under observation for up to forty-eight hours.

  Kaity’s sweet face leached from the darkness of her memory. Was she dead?

  No, this can’t be happening. How did I get here? What happened to the man in the warehouse—the one who’d tried to kill me?

  “Yes. I remember the fire. Who brought me here?” It hurt to speak, but she tried not to show the pain.

  “Paramedics treated you at the scene and brought you here. You were unconscious.”

  “What happened to the man?”

  “What man?”

  “The guy who—?” Zoey didn’t finish. She didn’t have time for twenty-questions.

  She looked down at her body to assess what the doctors had done.

  Zoey saw an intravenous fluids line taped to the back of her hand. A cardiac monitoring machine beeped quietly in the background and she’d been given supplemental oxygen through a nasal cannula, a plastic tube plugged into her nose and fitted around her ears, to prevent hypoxia.

  Her mind raced with a checklist of the treatment she had probably been given for
smoke inhalation—as well as the dangers she would face.

  Would their initial treatment be enough?

  They had probably given her antibiotics and corticosteroids to suppress inflammation and reduce any edema if she’d been exposed to heated gases, carbon monoxide or hydrogen cyanide. She still had the real possibility of a secondary infection since smoke inhalation made the airways more susceptible to bacteria.

  It could take two to three days for that to show.

  No. I can’t lie here. I have to know what happened to Kaity.

  “Where’s my cell phone…my personal stuff?”

  “Your clothes are hanging in that closet.” The nurse pointed to a door behind her. “And your cell phone and other things are in this drawer.”

  “Good, thanks.”

  “The doctor will be here shortly. I’m at the nurses’ station. If you need anything, hit the button.” The woman raised the call button and clipped it closer to her hand.

  Zoey smiled and said, “I’ll be here.”

  She lied.

  ***

  Denver, Colorado

  3:20 a.m.

  Homicide Detective Estefan Cruz walked through the smoldering carcass of the destroyed warehouse with a thick dank odor filling his nostrils. Water damage fused with the fire's destruction, raising a smothering stench. Between arson investigations and homicide, Cruz had to toss more than a few suits over his career. The odor of human decomp was especially bad. It’s why he only bought cheap suits, even though his fashion taste ran higher.

  In the darkness he hit the switch to his Kel-light. The beam stretched into the void and captured fine particles of dust in its wake—a reminder of why the air smelled stale and thick. The scorched shell had turned into a macabre landscape in black and gray. Past the entrance where he had come, an eerie hum drifted through the gutted cavern, leading him like a beacon.