Lost Distinction (Jordan James, PI Series)

by Rachel Sharpe

  “Back up!” A hand touched my shoulder gently.

  I turned to see Jon standing beside me. I had the sudden urge to kiss him. He stepped between Bronx and me with his gun pointed at Bronx. They glared at him, but didn’t move.

  Glancing at the large man, Jon said, “You try anything, your boss is dead. I never miss.”

  The huge Asian frowned, but obligingly, closed the blade and returned it to his pocket. Bronx had an enraged look on his face, like a spoiled child whose new toy has just been stolen. “You have no bloody idea who you’re dealing with!” He clenched his fists and ground his teeth. Again, if the giant bodyguard had not been there, Bronx’s tantrum could have been comical.

  Jon offered a cocky smirk. “Nope, and I really don’t care. All I know is that I have a gun and your fat friend has a knife. Odds are in my favor, kid.”

  Bronx laughed sadistically. “Do you really think I only brought one bodyguard?”

  From the shadows, two other, equally large men appeared. They were not smiling.

  Jon swallowed hard and I saw his Adam’s apple quiver as he hissed, “Run. Now.”

  I turned on my heels and sprinted down the alleyway. I stepped in a puddle, which sent water splashing up my legs but I didn’t stop. I could feel my side cramping from the exertion, but I pressed on.

  Moments later, I emerged from the darkness and was greeted by the blinding sunlight and the noises of the now-bustling docks. I looked right and left, searching for a means of escape but found none. I saw Jon rush out behind me, wide-eyed as he clutched his gun.

  “Let’s go!” he shouted over the noise of a passing vessel.

  “Where?”

  As I finished my sentence, a familiar black cab raced around the corner, tires screeching as it stopped beside me. I recognized the cabbie as the Jamaican who warned me earlier. “Do ya need a ride, pretty lady?”

  I hopped in the cab and Jon jumped in after me, just as Bronx and his goons emerged from the alleyway. “Go, go, go!”

  The cabbie sped off, his eyes wide as he noticed the men rushing at his vehicle. “I hate dis town,” he muttered as he turned a sharp corner, leaving Bronx’s entourage in the dust.

  As soon as we were a safe distance away, my heart rate began to decrease. My mind started to work again. I stared at Jon in disbelief. “How?”

  His chest heaved up and down as he focused on the gun in his hand. I realized he was shaking. I had never seen Jon so scared. After a few moments of silence, he turned toward me.

  “Are you prone to danger or do you go looking for it?”

  “What are you doing here?”

  Jon placed the gun on the seat, careful the driver did not see it, and gave me a dirty look. “I just saved your life. How about a thank you?”

  “Thank you,” I stammered, still trying to comprehend that Jon was actually sitting beside me in a cab in London. “I’m grateful, Jon, it’s just, I mean, what are you doing here?”

  He gave me an accusatory look. “You never listened to my voicemail.”

  I averted my gaze.

  He shook his head. “I did my job.”

  “I don’t follow.”

  Jon stared at the roof of the cab, exasperated. After a few moments, he replied. “I work for a private investigator. She runs off for the weekend with her boyfriend claiming she might have a new case. Then Sunday morning, she texts she’s on her way to London. Doesn’t take a genius to make the connection.”

  “No, I understand that you’re in London because I texted you I was coming here, but how did you find me? London is huge!”

  Jon scratched his ear. “Again, I did my job.”

  “Tell me this. What exactly do you know?”

  He offered a smug smile. “I know it has something to do with Ambassador Cross.”

  Chapter 17

  I clapped my hand across his mouth and gave him a warning look. I then glanced up at the rearview mirror, hoping the cabbie had not heard Jon’s declaration. To my relief, he was so enthralled with his weird, reggae/pop music that he hadn’t heard a word.

  I removed my hand from Jon’s mouth and in a low voice, ordered, “All right, spill. Tell me exactly what you know, but do not use names, got it?”

  Rolling his eyes, he straightened the collar of his charcoal sweater for emphasis. “I was really mad at you on Friday.”

  “I know that. What are you doing here?”

  He glared out the window at an excursion boat ascending the Thames. “I thought that you and Rick, uh, never mind. Anyway, when I got your message, it floored me. I’m glad you weren’t lying about a case, but I was shocked that you took off for London. I tried calling, but you didn’t answer. So, I decided to do a little investigating myself.”

  “Makes sense,” I nodded, glancing up at the cabbie. “Now tell me why you think this has something to do with, uh, you-know-who?”

  “You-know-who? You sound like you’re five,” Jon snorted, leaning back against the worn, black-leather seat. “Guess you could say I resorted to one of the oldest and most successful investigative techniques in the book.”

  “Which is?”

  He shrugged his shoulders. “I snooped. Rick and I are roommates. Wasn’t hard to go into his room and figure out what was going on.”

  I furrowed my brow. “First, Jon, that’s an invasion of privacy.” He stared. “Which in some cultures is considered wrong. Second, I gotta be honest. I’m intrigued. What led you to your conclusion?”

  “Well, I’ve known Rick for a couple years now. We were roommates in college and we’ve been roommates again for about a year. He’s a pretty private dude.”

  “You’re telling me.”

  “Anyway, I saw he left some photo album on his bed. Struck me as weird. Why would a guy have a photo album and why would he be looking through it? Seems more like a chick thing to me.”

  “Guys can’t enjoy reminiscing?”

  “Certain types of guys, yes.”

  “Jon!”

  “Anyway, it was open to some pictures from high school or something. Looked like he was in a band.” He rolled his eyes. “Anyway, flipping through it, I noticed lots of pics of him and one particular person, a guy with blond hair. There were even some with that guy and people who looked like, I don’t know, his weird clones or something, at some mansion. And when I say mansion, I mean mansion. Not like the Breakers, but maybe the Elms. So then I go to his computer, which he left open and unlocked.”

  “You went through his computer?”

  “It was unlocked! Very careless. He’s unlucky I found it and not some creep. Lo and behold, the Internet browser has an address in New Seabury, Massachusetts. I made a call and found out who lived there,” he paused and glanced at the cabbie, “you-know-who also had a home in London.”

  “Who do you know that can find that kind of info?”

  “Now, now,” Jon winked. “I have my sources, too.”

  I lowered my head and gave him an intense stare. “Who?”

  “Fine. My cousin.”

  “Which cousin?”

  “Sophie.”

  “I don’t know a Sophie.”

  Jon shook his head, frustrated. “It doesn’t matter. What matters is that I figured out what you were doing and where you were going. Sophie was able to locate Cross’s London address. I went there last night to meet you, but you just stared at me.”

  I felt my mouth drop as I recalled seeing Jon the night before. I’d decided it was an hallucination brought on by cheap whisky and exhaustion. “How long have you been here?”

  “I just got here last night. You do know how long it takes to get here, right? That’s a really long flight. Painfully long. I was stuck sitting next to a bratty kid. Who refused to shut up. Anyway, I took a cab from the air
port to the address Sophie gave me. Right when I got there, you and Rick showed up. You looked straight at me, then walked inside.”

  “I didn’t know it was you,” I apologized. “Sorry.”

  He shrugged his shoulders. “Whatever.”

  Hoping to avoid a touchy subject, I asked, “Where’d you go after that?”

  He glanced at the outside scenery. “I have family here.”

  Again, I felt as if my jaw hit the floor. “What? You, too? Am I the only person who doesn’t have some connection in England?”

  Jon looked at me, perplexed. “Huh?”

  “Never mind.”

  Jon grinned. “So how accurate was my deduction?”

  “Very accurate. I’m impressed, Watson.” He rolled his eyes at my lame joke. “Look, I’m very grateful that you showed up today, but, how did you find me here?”

  His tan complexion suddenly revealed a rosy tint. “I figured if you were on a case, you wouldn’t sleep late.” Shrugging, he added, “Besides, Sophie kicked me out. She had to get to work.”

  “At five in the morning?”

  He shrugged. “She’s dedicated.”

  “So it was just luck that you showed up when I was leaving and—”

  “I followed you, yeah,” he finished. “By the way, who was that guy you were with? He looked like a creep.”

  The cab began to slow down and I saw the Cross family’s flat come into view. Grabbing my purse and preparing to get out, I nodded.“You’re right. He is a creep.”

  The cab stopped in front of the curb and I paid the fare. I thanked him profusely for his help while Jon hid the gun in his pants. As soon as we stepped out of the cab, it was gone. Jon looked at me while we climbed the steps, pressing, “Creep, yes, but who was he?”

  At that moment, the door to the flat flew open and Devin stared at me, open-mouthed. I nodded at him and replied, “Jon, this is Devin O’Malley. He’s Ambassador Cross’s personal assistant here in London.”

  While Devin fought to regain his ability to speak, I stared at him, directly in the eyes, and added, “Hey, there, Dev. Surprised to see me?”

  Behind him, I heard voices and people moving about. Seconds later, Rick shoved past Devin and hugged me. I returned his embrace as he kissed me.

  Then, he looked me in the eyes and I saw the relief replaced with both frustration and concern. “Where were you? I got your note. I tried to call you, but—but the calls went to voicemail!”

  “Sorry,” I pulled my phone from my purse and inspected it. “Must not have had a signal in Aldgate.”

  “Aldgate?” he repeated in disbelief. “You went to Aldgate to meet a drug dealer? Alone? Why? Why didn’t you tell me? I would’ve gone with you! What you did was dangerous!”

  Rick’s scolding made me feel like a five-year-old who had wandered off in the mall. It also brought back the vivid memory of how close I had come to a potentially deadly situation.

  I shot Devin a dirty look, but he was staring at the ground, looking distraught. It occurred to me then that I had been set up. Devin left me there because I was a liability. Slimy little worm. I realized Rick was still focused on me so I hugged him reassuringly.

  “You’re right,” I quickly agreed. “It was a bad idea. I could’ve been in a very dangerous situation, but, thankfully, someone showed up and he helped me.”

  “He?” Rick stared into my eyes, searching for answers. I noticed the swelling around his eye had gone down and was now turning to a yellowish color.

  I stepped aside and for the first time, Rick saw Jon. I expected him to be pleased that his friend saved my life. Instead, Rick’s gorgeous features contorted into an angry expression. He pointed at Jon.

  “What the hell’s he doing here?”

  I could see Rick becoming angrier the longer he stared at Jon. I glanced at Jon, then back at Rick. Apparently, the feeling was mutual. Before I could reply, I heard a different, deeper voice mutter a curse word and we all turned to see Gatlin Cross fill the doorway.

  His temples pulsed and his blue eyes hardened. We were all silenced by the weight of his stare. The quiet was absolute. I feared moving a millimeter, thinking that even if I blinked it might set him off. No one knew what to do. Luckily, the ambassador himself ended the silence with one, commanding word.

  “Inside,” he bellowed, backing out of the doorway and staring down at each and every one of us as we hurried inside the flat. We walked into the living room and waited as he closed the door. I stood between Rick and Jon while Devin leaned against one of the couches on the other side of the room. I noticed him clutching his pack of cigarettes so tightly I thought it might burst.

  The ambassador entered the room with his hands behind his back. He exhaled slowly as he approached the white oak fireplace. He stared into the smoldering ashes for several moments, before turning around and glaring at me. “Miss James,” he began, “I must say, I am disappointed. I believed you to be an honest and ethical investigator.”

  “Sir, I can explain.”

  “Granted, those are qualities few have these days, but I thought you possessed both. It was for that reason that I hired you. Now, just when I learn that my son was indeed kidnapped, I also discover my investigator cannot keep her word about keeping this matter private.”

  “It’s not what you think.”

  “How am I supposed to work with you if I cannot trust you?”

  Before I had a chance to answer, Jon came to my rescue, insisting, “Sir, my name is Jon Riché. I’m Jordan’s associate. I came here without her knowledge. She sent me a text on Sunday letting me know that she would be in London for work but provided no details. I would like to add, sir, that it wasn’t until a moment ago that I knew what this case was about, when you yourself said it.” He paused and glanced at me. “Jordan James is one of the finest investigators in Boston, if not the world, and you’d be wicked lucky to have her help you.”

  He stared at Gatlin Cross, unwaveringly. Jon’s behavior had been uncharacteristically chivalrous and I wondered if it was a total metamorphosis or simply jet lag affecting his conduct. When Gatlin finally spoke, he did not address Jon or me. Instead, he looked at Rick with a curious smile on his face.

  “Tell me, Richard, it doesn’t bother you having your girlfriend work with a man who is in love with her?”

  His words hit me hard, first with shock, then embarrassment. Jon opened his mouth to protest but the ambassador held his hand up, silencing him. It was a cheap, cruel mind trick, trying to pin us against each other, and it ticked me off. He finally addressed me again, saying, “Miss James, I believe your assistant’s earnest soliloquy. I would like for you to continue working on this case.”

  He crossed his arms with authority. I looked at Rick, whose focus was on Jon, before glancing at Devin. Devin remained on the other side of the room, making no effort to join the conversation. I cleared my throat. Nodding, I replied, “Thank you, sir. I would like to continue working on the case, especially now that there’s a definite lead. I went to see Bronx this morning, but he offered little help. If you could brief me on what has happened in my absence, I would like to start immediately with the help of my associate, if that is acceptable.”

  A smirk appeared on the ambassador’s face and he shot Rick a knowing look. “That’s fine by me,” he replied, and suddenly turning more serious, continued. “I hope you and your assistant both keep in mind this is a delicate matter. No one must know about it. This morning, Ms. Chambers discovered a note taped to a small box on the front stoop. The note was typed and to the point: ‘We have Arthur and if you ever want to see him again, bring two million pounds to St. Olave Church tonight.’ There are very specific details about where to leave the money and that sort of thing.”

  I nodded, taking in the information he had just provided. “And you’re sure this
is legit? It’s not just someone who may have learned about Arthur’s being missing and using it as an opportunity to get money?” I found myself looking at Devin when I made this suggestion.

  The ambassador didn’t notice. “No, it’s for real. Inside the box was a St. Christopher’s medal that once belonged to my grandfather, Ashton Cross. There’s no mistaking it. Whoever wrote this note either has Arthur or knows where he is.”

  The mention of Ashton Cross brought back memories of my talk with Michelle about the Cross family history. Ashton Cross was a ruthless businessman who put his career before the well-being of his own family. The more time I spent with the ambassador, the more similarities I observed between him and his late grandfather.

  Clutching the St. Christopher’s medal in his hand, the ambassador discussed his thoughts on handling the ransom drop. He believed it best if Jon and I made the drop while Rick waited for us in a car just out of sight. The ransom did not specify how Arthur would be returned, merely that once the money was retrieved, further instructions would be given. Although I thought the plan sounded logical, Rick was not thrilled about me making the drop.

  “Why can’t Devin do it?” Rick suggested, crossing his arms.

  “Devin is in the public eye,” the ambassador replied. “He’s always with me. I can’t run the risk of any connection being made.”

  “There’s obviously gonna be a connection to you if you’re paying millions of pounds to get your son back!” Rick snapped.

  The ambassador gave Rick a warning look. “Richard, if you’re going to be involved in this, you cannot oppose me at every turn. Arthur is my son. This is my money, and—”