by Diane Capri
A flush of adrenaline ripped through her body. She placed a hand on the glass tabletop and gazed out the back window, blinking rapidly. “What? Is it big news? Has he confessed?”
Slightly breathless, she pulled out her notepad and uncapped her pen with her teeth.
“I want to tell you in person.” Clayton used his slow, deep voice. The voice that meant he was sure Jordan would be impressed with his work. He was usually right.
Crap.
Jordan rubbed her eyes. She couldn’t date Clayton, no matter how sexy he was. Not now. Or ever. Any personal relationship between a journalist and a police officer was a conflict of interest waiting to happen, not to mention drama overload.
Also not to mention today would be her first day back at work. Clayton’s timing couldn’t have been worse.
How could she finesse this?
“Yes, of course.” Jordan walked out onto the back patio. She wanted to hear his news, but she wouldn’t grovel to get information from him or anybody else. “Would you be able to come to Channel 12 this afternoon? I’d like Drew Hodges to hear it too.”
Whoa! Where did that come from? Since when was she letting Drew Hodges in on her private info sessions with the Tampa Police Department?
Some kind of strange intuition had kicked in. Drew would be a barrier against Clayton’s flirting, sure. But bringing Drew into the loop? That, she didn’t want.
Did she?
Definitely not.
Still, her intuition said she’d made the right choice here. Go with it.
“Is there a place we can meet privately?” Clayton asked.
“Three o’clock at Channel 12.”
“All right. See you then.” He clicked off. Maybe he sounded a little miffed. She wasn’t sure.
The timing was a gamble. Richard Grady, the news director, had called her in early for a talk before her shift. Then, the afternoon meeting would probably be over by three. She should be able to slip into a conference with Clayton and Drew before going out on assignment. If she was lucky.
Of course, she’d also need to persuade Drew to participate. One thing at a time, Jordan.
CHAPTER 5
The conversation with Clayton reminded Jordan to handle another task before she returned to working on her mom’s hard drive.
The pictures on her work phone were backed up to SkySpace automatically, but she felt more secure knowing the pictures existed somewhere besides an abstract cloud. She plugged her phone into her laptop and started the transfer.
Photos copied. Delete photos from original device?
Jordan’s finger hovered over the Yes button. Then, a picture of Claire’s bubblegum pink car filled her screen.
Jordan had snapped the photo the night she’d met Tom Clark, the cute Infidel Brewery owner she liked all of a sudden more than she wanted to. The first guy she’d wanted to date since The Big Breakup with her fiancé at college graduation.
Keep your eyes on the prize, Jordan.
She didn’t have time for men. She had to get hired full time at Channel 12. And she had to solve her mother’s murder. And she wanted justice for Ruby Quinn.
Jordan was young. Plenty of years left for dating. Tom could wait. But would he? If he doesn’t, then he’s not as perfect as you think he is.
She enlarged the photo she’d made in the dark parking lot the night she’d met Tom.
The same night you first crossed Hugo Diaz. Not smart, Jordan. She frowned and her breath came a little faster.
That was before Hugo and his crew had kidnapped her. She hadn’t known Hugo’s name that first night and he hadn’t known hers, either.
Nor could she prove Hugo was the one who had keyed Claire’s car with the deep, swirly gouges in the pink paint. The gouges that seemed familiar and at the same time unfamiliar. An involuntary shiver passed from her scalp to her toes. She couldn’t prove it, but she knew Hugo had done the damage. Knew it.
Jordan deleted all pictures from her camera except that one. The photo had been copied to her laptop and to SkySpace already.
She kept the original on her camera. Just in case.
In case of what, exactly?
She shrugged. She couldn’t answer her own question. But the uneasy feeling lingered and it was related to Hugo.
Hugo and his pal, Pipo, had been arrested and remained in custody. A good first step, but not good enough, even if police and prosecutors could manage to hold him there.
FBI Special Agent Terry Ryser had told her that Hugo Diaz was not his real name. Preliminary searches to identify him had failed. He didn’t exist in any U.S. databases.
“We’ll find out who he is, Jordan. Don’t worry.” Agent Ryser had said. “It’s just a matter of time.”
“I believe you,” Jordan had replied. And she did. “But this means Hugo Diaz is more dangerous than we thought, doesn’t it?”
A man with no recorded history in this era of constant government surveillance was a man to be feared. Jordan knew that much.
“At the very least, it means he has powerful connections.” Agent Ryser’s next words were bone chilling. “Until we get his identity settled is there somewhere you can go? Make it harder for Diaz and El Pulpo to find you?”
That was when Jordan accepted Linda Pierce’s house-sitting job.
Second item on Jordan’s list: identify Hugo Diaz so she could go home at the end of the week.
She knew where to start. El Pulpo, of course. And the man who called himself Evan Groves now. Jordan’s News Nose said it was no coincidence that they had the same slick lawyer. The lawyer who showed up at the jail even before Hugo Diaz arrived in the arresting officer’s squad car.
“Let’s try this again.” Jordan said as she returned to the armchair and opened the yearbook.
CHAPTER 6
Running water and a muffled vacuum cleaner motor established that one of the girls was working downstairs nearby. Jordan flipped through the first few pages of her mom’s 2006 yearbook, but her mind wasn’t processing. How long would they be there cleaning, anyway?
She thumbed through the yearbook’s pages until she landed on the middle school soccer team page. She scanned the list of names under the photo. Aaron Robinson. He’d been on the team. Made sense.
Her mind wandered from point to point like a butterfly landing on flowers in a garden. College level sports teams and sometimes staff were filled by a funnel from high schools, which were funneled up from middle schools.
Aaron Robinson attended Riverside Middle School until 2006. He was tried and convicted in a vehicular homicide. Brenda Fox testified at the trial. He was sentenced as a minor. Released at age eighteen. At which point, he simply disappeared.
How did that happen?
After that, somehow, he became Evan Groves and then Plant University Assistant Soccer coach. Jordan couldn’t fathom how he ever got hired with his criminal history. And he was dealing drugs there, too, according to police.
At least, until he was arrested in connection with Ruby Quinn’s murder. Now, he was in jail and Jordan wanted him sent to prison. Forever. In fact, as far as she was concerned, prison was too good for him.
She really hoped that was the news Clayton planned to deliver this afternoon.
She scanned the yearbook’s facing page of candid soccer player shots. Only one photo of Aaron Robinson. This time, he’d been snapped with his arm wrapped around another boy’s shoulder, identified as Mark Gifford.
Jordan’s upper lip curled. Aaron Robinson didn’t look like a killer. He looked, well, normal. Other boys, like this Mark Gifford kid, seemed to act natural enough with him, too.
Then, something about the Mark Gifford boy held her attention. The darkness in his eyes. The confidence he exuded, even wearing torn sneakers, faded jeans, and an old t-shirt.
What was that logo on the front of his t-shirt? The photo was in black-and-white, and Mark Gifford’s t-shirt was dark and as wrinkled as wadded paper. Not a great combo for picture clarity. She couldn’t make
out the words.
Jordan took a quick snapshot of the photo on her phone and enhanced it. Surprise caught her breath.
Hell, no. Is that even possible? Can’t be.
Both of her legs began to bounce. She barely noticed.
She enhanced the photo again until the words were as crystal clear as screen-printed cotton could be.
Mark Gifford’s t-shirt was advertising something, all right. It was two words. Bold font. Two familiar words.
Tragic Rabbit.
She opened the magnifying glass app on her phone and examined the original photo closely, this time paying more attention to the boy than his clothes.
He was already tall and well built, even back then. Boyhood immaturity predicted features that would develop into the handsome man she’d already spent way too much time with.
Unlike the yearbook photos of Evan/Aaron, which made him look like a choir boy, this photo revealed exactly what Mark Gifford would become. A cunning predator. Anybody could’ve seen it, if they’d known to look for it.
Jordan’s mind went numb and she rocked back and forth.
Tragic Rabbit.
The untraceable email address that the FBI said El Pulpo used to collect ransom money was tragicrabbit.
The untraceable email address that the reporter said had been used to buy one of the knives that killed Brenda Fox five years ago was also tragicrabbit.
What the hell did tragic rabbit mean?
A full second later, the impact slammed into her mind. Her body hummed along every nerve. Both legs bounced as if she was standing on a vibrating platform. She felt the bile rising in her throat and her stomach churning like a blender.
She closed the yearbook and stood, pacing the room, fast. As if she might outrun the reality chasing her. Breathless, she stopped. Raked both hands through her hair and tried to slow her heartbeat.
When she found her voice, she shouted, “You have got to be freaking kidding me.”
A sharp cry from the kitchen doorway jerked her attention.
CHAPTER 7
Maria. The young cleaner. Staring from the kitchen, poised to bolt, hands covering her mouth, face pinched as if she might scream again.
“Sorry. Sorry, Maria. Really. I was talking to myself, not to you.” Jordan hadn’t noticed the dark circles under Maria’s eyes before. Poor kid looked exhausted, and they’d barely started cleaning. She’d be dead on her feet before they finished. All of that, and now she must be thinking Jordan was an irrational lunatic, too.
Jordan smiled weakly and waved her hand. “I’m just—stressed out about work.” She sat down again and picked up the yearbook simply to reassure the girl.
Maria nodded slightly. After a few moments when Jordan did nothing else alarming, Maria lowered her head and returned to her work, glancing back over her shoulder frequently, just in case.
Jordan stared blankly toward the kitchen because the tragic rabbit connection was still too raw. She didn’t want to figure it out just yet. She’d need to be alone for that. To work things through. In her own way.
So she watched, eyes straight ahead, concentrating on nothing at all, almost zoned out.
Maria wiped down the counters with all-purpose cleaning spray. After that, Maria spritzed the same spray on one of the huge kitchen windows.
She smeared the oily goop around on the window. Maria whimpered as she tried to remove the greasy marks by spraying more. The harder she rubbed and the more she sprayed, the worse the window and her whimpering became.
Jordan put down the yearbook and took a few steps toward the girl before her increasing agitation ended in tears or shattered glass. “Maria?”
Maria jumped and turned to look behind her.
“Do you need window cleaner?” Jordan walked carefully into the kitchen to face Maria’s vacant stare.
Jordan pointed to the messy window and then to the spray bottle. “Glass cleaner?”
Maria’s empty gaze coupled now with cowering shivers. What was wrong with the girl?
After a moment, Maria struggled to answer the simple question. A stiff smile appeared and faltered. “I’m sorry. This is the first week for me. I’m still learning.” Her voice was trembling and almost inaudible.
All of a sudden, Jordan felt like a big sister to the bafflingly terrified girl. “Is this your first job?”
Maria didn’t answer. She didn’t stop cowering, either.
Jordan reached out to touch her arm. “Is something wrong?”
Maria jerked her arm back as if she’d been branded by Jordan’s touch. “No. No. I keep working.”
She rushed to swipe counters she’d already cleaned and knocked over a vase. It tumbled off the counter and bounced twice on the hardwood floor, spilling flowers and water everywhere.
Maria crouched down, ducked her head and covered her face, and shook as if she expected Jordan to strike her.
“It’s okay, it’s okay.” Jordan picked up the vase. “It’s just water and flowers.” The girl continued to tremble. She refused to meet Jordan’s gaze. “Come on, Maria. The vase didn’t even break. You’re probably just nervous because it’s your first week.”
“It’s her second week.” Jordan turned toward the grating voice. Edith stood with her hands on her hips, staring down at Maria, frowning fiercely. “She’s stupid, that’s all. I try to help her, but no more now.”
Jordan stepped to block Edith’s withering stare before Maria turned into a puddle of woe right on the kitchen floor.
“No more. No.” Edith gave her head a quick, dismissive shake before she swished her ponytail and stalked off.
Maria sat with her head in her hands, legs fully extended. “I should be better after two weeks.”
For the first time, Jordan noticed thick dark bruises encircled Maria’s wrists and ankles. Had someone been abusing her? Edith seemed like the type to lash out when no one was watching. That creepy Felix looked like a man with a short fuse, too.
Gently, Jordan asked, “Do you like the work?”
Maria nodded without looking up. “Felix says he wants me to work the ships someday.”
“Sounds exciting.” Jordan leaned against the counter and angled her head. “Felix is your supervisor? The man who dropped you off?”
Maria nodded again, still hiding her face. “But I don’t want to leave so quickly from my parents. Already I moved away from home with them. I don’t want different job. I want this job. I love cleaning house. I like the work every day.”
Jordan’s News Nose began to twitch. Something wasn’t right here.
She pulled a couple of tissues from a box beside the sink and handed them to Maria. “And you’re getting a paycheck, which I’m sure comes in handy.”
Maria sat up straight, finally. She hid a smile behind her hand. “Yes, it is wonderful. Mr. Felix pays our rent and provides our meals, so twenty percent of the money we earn, we get to keep!”
Childlike naiveté radiated from her face along with the joy of collecting slave wages from the creepy Felix. Jordan scowled. How did he get away with that? What right did he have to take Maria’s paycheck? Linda Pierce would not employ a cleaning service that allowed such behavior. Not a chance.
But Jordan aimed to reassure Maria, not make matters worse. “Hang in there. I love my job, too. There are rough days.” She chuckled. That was an understatement. “But it gets better, I promise.” I hope.
Jordan heard footsteps behind her and turned in time to see Edith glaring at Maria again. “I’ll tell Felix if you don’t work.”
Without another sniffle, Maria scampered up off the floor and applied the glass cleaner to the window with gusto.
Jordan watched her a moment more. Something was definitely odd about Maria and this whole setup. Jordan would fill Linda in on everything as soon as she returned from her vacation. But today, Jordan had her own problems to handle.
CHAPTER 8
When Maria moved on to another part of the mansion, Jordan could finally focus her attention on
the yearbook and her efforts to break the code on her mother’s external hard drive.
An explanation for Tragic Rabbit was the top item on Jordan’s radar, but she didn’t want to research Tragic Rabbit with the cleaners in the house. She wanted them to go. She wanted complete silence and no prying eyes when she found out how, not if, El Pulpo was connected to her mother’s murder.
She flipped through the yearbook for inspiration. She landed on a page more worn than the rest because she and her dad had looked at it so many times. The center of the page was a picture of her mother in her office.
Jordan squinted, and noticed something in the picture she’d forgotten about. There was a stuffed bunny on her mom’s desk in the picture. Could that be tragic rabbit?
How weird would it be if her password was tragic rabbit? A chill raced down Jordan’s spine. Why not? She’d tried dumber options.
She typed tragicrabbit into the password box and squeezed her eyes closed as she pressed Enter. Red X. It was a no-go. Something close to relief flooded Jordan’s tense muscles. Whatever tragic rabbit meant, at least her mom wasn’t tied to it. Maybe.
Jordan heard footsteps coming down the stairs. Edith led the way and Maria followed close behind.
“Felix is on the way for us,” Edith said as she walked past Jordan and swished her ponytail again. “Maria. Come. We’ll wait outside.”
Maria stopped briefly to smile at Jordan. “Thank you for being kind to me.”
“Oh, not at all,” Jordan replied. The poor girl looked dead on her feet. Deep shadows beneath her eyes gave her a wraithlike vibe. She needed a good meal and about a week of bed rest. “You take good care of yourself, okay?”
“Maria!” Edith scolded like a fishwife. Maria nodded in response to Jordan’s question. Then she shrugged and lowered her gaze and shuffled behind Edith out to the driveway.
Jordan watched through the window as the van pulled up with Felix behind the wheel. Jordan snapped a few photos of Edith, Maria, Felix and the van with her phone.