by Diane Capri
After her shift, she called Claire again and got voice mail, again. She sent a text. “Need to talk. Urgent.”
Jordan took her phone to bed with her so when Claire texted back she’d know right away. The text from Claire didn’t come and Jordan didn’t sleep much, either. After a few hours of tossing and turning, she gave up the effort. She showered, dressed, and scrounged around until she found her digital camera and the locket Claire had given her for graduation and dropped both into her bag.
When she joined her dad in the kitchen shortly after sunrise, Jordan asked, “Did Claire call here while I was at work yesterday?”
He glanced up from his Sunday paper. “I don’t think so. Did you check the machine?”
She’d checked the answering machine when she came home last night. Nothing. “I thought maybe you’d talked to her. I’ll catch up with her today.” She grabbed a bagel and filled a travel cup with coffee and kissed her dad on the way out.
Jordan would find Claire today, no matter what. But it was too early to go knocking on her door and Jordan had a few things to do first.
The stories she’d read last night about the Caster Shrimp docks were sketchy and confusing. The photos she found were grainy, too. And everything was too old for embedded video. Jordan didn’t have a clear idea about what the docks looked like or how they operated and she’d need that to question Sal effectively. She also needed still photos and video to go with her story, assuming she came up with one.
She’d read that the shrimp boats went out into the Gulf for two or three weeks and netted shrimp at night. The boats returned after sunrise and when the moon was full because shrimp burrow in bright light. The full moon was three nights ago. Which meant that the boats should be in dock now. She would take a few good photos, maybe even interview a couple of shrimpers on camera if she could find them. Mainly, she wanted to get the feel of the place to give her story authenticity.
The docks were located somewhere between downtown Tampa and Centro Tampa—the city’s Historic District. Not far. Maybe a fifteen-minute drive this early on a Sunday morning.
Just as she and Hermes set off, the gray skies opened up and rain hammered down in sheets. Classic Tampa downpour. Probably would end as quickly as it started.
Jordan clicked her windshield wipers to high, and maneuvered through downtown’s excessive number of one-way streets. The huge storm drains couldn’t keep up with the volume of water pouring off the streets. She avoided puddles because they were deep pools that could stall or ruin Hermes’ engine. The rain was almost blinding now, but she was familiar with where the lanes started and ended, driving by memory and feel.
When she turned an unfamiliar corner, and could no longer orient herself, she had to give up. She pulled into the parking lot of an old brick building and waited for the rain to slow.
She didn’t expect Sal to be at the docks now. But if he was there, so much the better. He’d avoided her long enough. After she looked around a bit and collected her visuals, she’d be more than glad to find out what the hell was going on.
The rain was letting up, but maybe a slow drizzle would linger for a while. She couldn’t go to work looking like she’d frizzed her hair in a light socket. Jordan double checked that Hermes was in Park and reached around to her backseat. She dug through a bag and found what she was looking for: a baseball cap. Not great, but hat hair was better than frizz head.
She pulled out into the street. She was close. It was just a matter of finding where to turn right. Jordan spied an unmarked street ahead that appeared to intersect with the tall masts of large boats. She gripped the wheel and swung a right. A few feet beyond, a gate read ENTRANCE.
She peered through the windshield and now drizzling rain. The gate was locked. Chained and secured with a padlock. Jordan got out of her car and peeked through the holes in the fence. Beyond the barrier, she saw activity on the docks and around the boats. Mostly men. Shrimpers, probably. That was where she needed to be if she was going to find anything useful.
Jordan guided Hermes along an unpaved road that ran parallel to the waterfront. There, on the left, was a sign that read RESTRICTED AREA. KEEP OUT. Another sign on this gate read EXIT ONLY. But the gate was wide open. Cars lined up on the other side in a parking lot. She entered through the exit.
Jordan guided Hermes to a little parking spot next to a white Audi, then hit the brakes. Sal drives a white Audi. Tinted windows meant Jordan couldn’t see if anyone was inside the Audi, but she scrambled anyway. She hadn’t really expected to find him here. She wasn’t ready. After everything she’d found out, she wanted to be better prepared before she talked to him.
Hit reverse and be conspicuous or keep driving? Keep driving. She glanced in her mirror as she passed the Audi and saw it had a Plant University Pirates license plate frame. Sal was a graduate of Plant University. Had to be his car. Would a smart reporter run away or stay? The little roadway took Jordan to another parking area in front of a shed. She would stay. She pulled in next to a black sedan to think.
What exactly was Sal doing here?
Salvador’s father had worked with accused drug runners. Maybe he’d even been a drug runner himself. Could Salvador be doing the same? If he was, he wouldn’t like her chatting up his captains, snapping photos and shooting video. What had seemed like a harmless fact-gathering mission an hour ago felt too dangerous now. She hated to give up, though. With Sal here, she felt she’d been right all along. He was involved in whatever this was—up to his eyeballs.
That realization made her feel slightly nauseated. What would she say to Claire? And what would Claire do about it?
From her rearview mirror, Jordan studied the boats and identified at least one as a shrimp boat. She adjusted the mirror and watched as the crew worked to unload its catch. Dark-skinned guys with dirty t-shirts, waterproof boots and orange gloves hoisted big red netted sacks up to guys on the dock. The dockhands then carried the bags full of jumbo pink shrimp into one of the sheds. She pulled the digital camera out of her bag and snapped a dozen photos. They wouldn’t be great from this distance with only the gray morning rain for light. But maybe she could enhance them.
The whole process seemed very loosely monitored. Jordan didn’t know what happened when the boats were out in the Gulf of Mexico, but if Sal wanted to import some kind of drugs, it would be pretty damn easy to unload them right here and get away with it.
Jordan’s gaze fell on the shed right in front of her car. A sign read: CCTV. A security camera was next to it, pointing down directly at her. Damn. Maybe the security here wasn’t quite as loose as she thought. Time to go.
She reversed and headed out the way she came, until she saw backup taillights on a car backing out in front of her.
The car was Sal’s white Audi.
She slammed on her brakes and ducked her head under the bill of her cap. And prayed that Sal didn’t recognize Hermes.
CHAPTER 3
Once they got onto the main road, Jordan put some distance between Hermes and the Audi, but continued to follow. He’d better be going straight home. When he failed to make the turn that would have taken him to his estate, Jordan chewed her lip and frowned.
She checked her blind spot, swerved out of her lane, and moved one car length closer. He was closing in on a more developed part of Tampa, near the nicest shopping district in town. There was more traffic here, too. She didn’t want to lose sight of the Audi. His destination was unpredictable.
When he put on his right turn signal, Jordan prepared for a turn but didn’t flip on her own signal. He pulled into the enormous parking lot of a 30-story office building. Jordan followed, leaving as much distance as she dared.
When Sal went straight in the parking lot, Jordan pulled off to the right and shut off her engine. He snugged into a covered reserved spot outside the office complex. Must be the Caster Shrimp offices. Where Kelly Barnes had worked.
A couple of minutes later, Jordan looked in her rearview mirror. Crap! Claire’s ca
r pulled into the parking lot. Hermes was in plain sight. If she turned on her engine to move, Claire would be even more likely to notice. Jordan ducked down and watched in the side mirror.
Claire turned into the parking lot. She seemed to be singing with her eyes focused straight ahead. She drove toward Sal’s car, never once glancing towards Hermes. Close call.
Sal had been inside for a few minutes by the time Claire touched up her lipstick, finger combed her hair and entered the building. She was probably headed to Sal’s office, too.
Jordan sat up in her seat and rubbed the cramp in her left calf. “What should I do now?”
Hermes, as usual, didn’t answer.
She tapped her thumbs on the steering wheel, passing time until she figured Claire should have reached Sal. Then, Jordan made the call. Claire answered. She seemed to be in a good mood. Thank God.
“I haven’t seen you since I crossed the line on the phone,” Jordan said, “and I wanted to apologize in person.” True. But she also wanted to talk to Sal. And she wanted to know why neither one of them had returned her calls, too. “I have to be at work by two-thirty, but can I take you to lunch and make it up to you?”
“Come to brunch with us. I just stopped by Sal’s office. He’s been working this morning, but we’re almost ready to leave.” She lowered her voice. “He’s kinda shaken up because his administrative assistant was killed.”
“Yes, I saw that happened. My god Claire, I’m so sorry. I was worried about you. I tried to call you several times….” She let it hang there, hoping Claire would volunteer.
“Do you wanna meet us here? Say, thirty minutes? Then we can head to brunch?”
“I’m already dressed, and I’m starving. I can be there in fifteen.”
“Cool! You know where it is?”
“I’ll look it up.”
Jordan moved her car to a more remote corner of the parking lot. She removed her hat, smoothed her hair, and waited out the fifteen minutes, hidden from any possible window views that Salvador’s office might provide.
When the time was right, she parked near Claire’s car and sat for a moment with the engine running. Not an ideal situation because on the way out Sal might recognize her car and ask if she’d been following him from the docks. But if she walked all the way to the entrance from the far corner of the lot Claire would surely realize how odd that was given that the parking lot was practically empty.
Risky either way, but she could probably handle Claire’s questions better than Salvador’s suspicions. She almost moved Hermes again, but then she stopped. If it rained again, she’d get soaked walking all the way out there and she didn’t have time to go home and change before work.
Jordan shrugged. She was good on her feet. She’d have to trust that. Nothing she could do until one of them said something and then she’d deal with it, one way or another.
She left Hermes where he was, walked to the entrance and pulled open the lobby doors. Jordan rode up in the elevator, and followed the signs to Caster Shrimp Company headquarters. As she rounded the corner, she nearly bumped into a man she’d seen before.
“Sorry,” they said simultaneously.
Jordan was a journalist. She’d been in the presence of evil before. And this guy swamped her with a wave of revulsion that felt like a thousand bees climbing all over her skin. She leaned against the wall for support because there was no way she could possibly run.
Her gaze glided from his belt buckle, up to his hardened beer belly clothed in a faded, unbuttoned polo shirt, to the bird’s nest atop his head. A green fish hook tattoo emblazoned on the left side of his neck.
No doubt about it. She’d seen him twice before. He was the creepy guy from the Aquarium Room picture. The guy from the video, who stomped the hell out of her phone. And now he just happened to be walking away from Sal’s office?
Uh, no. Instantly, Jordan felt sickeningly sure that Salvador Caster was absolutely involved in criminal activity. Half a moment later, the ambivalence started.
If Jordan could reveal generations of corruption at iconic Caster Shrimp Company, she’d earn instant rock-star status in the newsroom. She’d beat Drew for sure. Definitely, she’d get the job. Drew couldn’t possibly top that story.
But job success wouldn’t be worth it if it meant losing her best friend. To earn her dream, she’d have to pulverize Claire’s. No way. She couldn’t do that.
Before she could make a move, Salvador appeared a few paces behind Faded Polo Man in the corridor. Sal looked terrible. Pale, clammy skin. Dark circles under his eyes. Fresh, damp sweat lines down the sides of his crisp, blue shirt.
He saw her and his eyes widened. “Jordan?”
If he was surprised, maybe he hadn’t seen her at the shrimping docks, she realized. Maybe he didn’t know how much she’d guessed.
His expression changed to something slightly more upbeat. “You must be here to see Claire. She’s in my—” He stopped short. “I’m sorry.” His gaze darted toward Faded Polo Man, still standing there sucking all the oxygen out of the room. “Let me introduce you. Jordan, this is Chester Flynn, one of our clients.”
“Chester, nice to meet you,” Jordan extended her hand, a little surprised that she showed so much self-control because she felt like her legs would give way and she’d plop down on the floor any minute. “Jordan Fox.”
“Pleasure.” He smirked as if he knew everything there was to know. “And please, call me Flynn.” His gaze lingered over her. “Jordan Fox.”
She didn’t like the way he said it at all. The consonants sprung from his tongue with too much force. Like he owned the name or something.
He said, “You look so familiar.”
He remembers seeing me in the Aquarium Room. Jordan felt fear rise to her throat and her imagination ran away with her good sense. Salvador has brought us both here on purpose. He knows I was following him. He’s trapped us here together. What has he done with Claire?
Flynn raised a finger in the air and shook it in her direction. “I know where I know your name from.”
“Oh?” Jordan was barely able to croak out.
“The front page headline of Channel 12’s story about that Casino body.” Flynn bowed his head and shook it in what Jordan interpreted as feigned sorrow. “Tragic.”
Jordan’s breath caught. She swallowed deeply and forced the air back into a natural rhythm. “Good memory.”
The elevator doors opened just then and Flynn stepped inside. “See you around, Jordan Fox.”
The way he said it made her skin crawl. Partly because of his smarmy tone. But mostly because she heard the threat he’d surely intended.
CHAPTER 4
Almost as if they’d agreed, Sal and Jordan said nothing more. They retrieved Claire and the three of them settled on a nearby Mexican place for brunch. Jordan dreaded confronting Sal and breaking Claire’s heart. But Sal would be arrested and convicted and sent to prison. Claire needed to know all of that in advance so she could get away from him.
Jordan had intended to talk privately to Claire first, but now that she’d seen Chester Flynn with Sal, that plan was foolish. Maybe even dangerous.
Sal maneuvered them to a booth where he and Claire sat in chairs facing the door and Jordan sat across on a bench. “Chester Flynn looked really familiar. Wasn’t he at your reception at the Casino?”
Sal wrinkled his forehead. Droplets of sweat dotted his hairline and he seemed more tentative than usual. Not quite nervous, but distracted. He glanced at the door and around the restaurant several times as if he was looking for someone. Was he hoping to find him or hoping he wasn’t there?
“Not that I recall,” Sal said, avoiding Jordan’s gaze.
He was lying. She let it go and, after they ordered, tried another angle. “I heard about your administrative assistant. That’s awful. I’m so sorry.”
Sal’s brow creased and bigger sweat droplets popped out on his forehead. One trickled down his temple and he wiped it away quickly with his f
ingers. “Thank you.”
“Were you close to Kelly?” Claire asked.
“Everyone at Caster Shrimp is like family to me. I was raised around these people from the time I could walk,” Sal’s tone was shaky, Jordan thought, but she didn’t know him well enough to say for sure. “Kelly was second generation Caster Shrimp. Her mom used to work for my dad.”
Jordan reached across the table and gently placed her hand atop his. She looked him in the eye. “It wasn’t a random hit-and-run, was it?” She squeezed his hand and lowered her voice. “Kelly Barnes was targeted, wasn’t she?”
She’d accept a nod. A simple nod would tell her everything she needed to know.
Instead, Sal jerked his hand away and almost growled at her. “Stay out of this, Jordan. Leave it alone before you cause even more trouble.”
“Jordan, back off.” Claire glared at Jordan and placed a protective arm around Sal. “Baby? What is it?”
Sal snapped. “Kelly is dead, that’s what. Of course, I’m upset. Just order your food and talk about something else.”
Claire sat back like he’d slapped her.
Jordan didn’t back off. Only one thing she could think of would account for his behavior. She leaned in. “You think Kelly’s death and the murdered man are related, don’t you?”
Claire gasped and both hands flew to cover her mouth. Jordan would normally have comforted her, but right now, she wanted the truth.
“Chester Flynn is behind this, isn’t he? It’s got to be him.” All she needed was confirmation. She could take it from there. She waited, like a stalking predator.
Claire sat still, too, holding her breath. Jordan knew she hoped for an innocent explanation that wouldn’t tarnish her knight.
Sal seemed to realize his next words might damage his relationship with Claire beyond repair. He wiped his hand over his face and raked splayed fingers through his hair.