Lost Distinction (Jordan James, PI Series)

by Rachel Sharpe

  “And Jordan’s my girlfriend,” Rick retorted.

  The more time we spent with Rick’s family, the more I began to see a side of him that had never before surfaced. There was a frustrated, chauvinistic, and boorish side of my sweet boyfriend that Gatlin Cross easily evoked. I didn’t like it.

  “Who is also my investigator.” The ambassador pinched the bridge of his nose. “Richard, you said you were okay with this. She’s been in much more dangerous situations, I’m sure. It’s a drop, Richard. I’m not asking her to confront anyone.” He paused and looked at me. “Although, if she took on a drug dealer this morning, I’d say she’s more than capable.”

  A sudden noise caused us all to turn. Ms. Chambers entered the room carrying a silver tray with tea and scones. She paused in the doorway, studying her employer.

  When he motioned for her to enter, she breezed through the room, placed the tray on the glass teacart, and silently made her exit. The ambassador placed the medal in his jacket pocket and poured himself a cup of tea. He sipped it thoughtfully while we all stood in silence. After taking a bite of a scone, he asked if I had any opinion on the matter.

  “There were no identifying marks on the letter or the envelope?”

  The ambassador shook his head. “It’s typed, and, unless you carry a fingerprint kit in your purse, I doubt we can determine who sent it.”

  I stepped forward and walked to the fireplace, glancing back at Jon and Rick. There was still definite hostility there, but neither was addressing it. “Can you think of anyone who’d want to blackmail you?”

  I was startled when my serious question was answered by a rowdy laugh. He grabbed his large chest with his massive hand and replied, “I’m a United States ambassador and I’ve been in politics for over thirty years. There are probably more people who would want to blackmail me than those who wouldn’t. The question is, how many of them have the means and nerve to do so?”

  Again, I found myself looking at Devin. He stared at the half-crumpled cigarette pack and picked at the top flap with his fingernail.

  The ambassador sighed as he finished another scone and wiped his fingers on his handkerchief. “I cannot begin to imagine who could have done this.”

  “So you’re gonna get the money?” Rick interjected.

  The ambassador turned to him and nodded. “I’m glad I have until this evening. I still have some matters to attend to regarding Henry.” He paused, swallowing hard. “Yes, I will have the money by this evening.”

  “Is there anything you want us to do while you’re out?” I inquired.

  He offered a strange smile. “Certainly. You can find my son.”

  When the ambassador and Devin left the flat to attend to matters regarding Henry, I remained with Rick, and Jon, and, the three of us sharing an awkward silence. Whatever olive branch existed between the roommates was destroyed the moment Jon landed in London.

  The low hum of the television did nothing to calm the mounting tension. As I sat between them on the couch, I felt as if I was in the crossfire, waiting for the first shot to ring out.

  Ms. Chambers busied herself by cleaning every nook and cranny in the house as if expecting a visit from the queen herself. We all stared blankly at a BBC detective show.

  Rick put his arm around my shoulder and pulled me closer. Such a loving gesture normally made me feel good, but as I felt Jon’s icy stare upon my face, I found myself filled with anxiety.

  Ms. Chambers entered the room and stood near the flat screen television with her hands clasped in front of her. “Beg pardon, but will your friend be staying here, too?”

  Although the question was presented innocently, it was apparent that she was not extending Jon a warm invitation. Rick glanced at Jon, but before he could reply, Jon said, “I got a place to stay.”

  As Ms. Chambers was leaving the room, the detective show was interrupted by a news bulletin. A small photo of Henry Cross appeared in the top left corner of the screen with the headline, “U.S. Ambassador’s son dies of natural causes at 28.”

  A striking redhead newscaster continued, “A terrible tragedy has befallen the family of Ambassador Gatlin Cross of Westminster. His son, Henry, 28, was found dead at the family’s flat early Sunday morning. Henry was a skilled surgeon, visiting his parents from the States on holiday. Authorities say the matter is not being investigated as an autopsy has revealed Cross died of natural causes. Our sympathies go out to the ambassador and his family.”

  The newsbreak ended and the show resumed. I almost laughed. Henry’s death was not funny, but that newsflash was hilarious. Anyone who watches crime shows could tell you those results would take weeks, not hours.

  The power of politics. I noticed Ms. Chambers standing off in the corner of the room, clutching a gold cross hanging from the necklace she wore. As soon as she realized she had an audience, she turned and abruptly left the room.

  I didn’t have a chance to think about the situation because Rick stood up and hurried out the patio doors leading to the balcony. I turned to Jon and saw his arms were crossed and his brow furrowed.

  I stood up and headed toward the patio doors. Pausing, I turned back to Jon. “I really appreciate your coming here. This is above and beyond. And if you hadn’t come when you did, well, I don’t even want to think about what could have happened.”

  When our gazes met, I noticed a genuinely pleased expression. He smiled slightly before shrugging it off and replying, “Yeah, well, don’t mention it.”

  I headed out the doors without another word. I found Rick leaning over the balcony wall, staring across the Thames. He seemed unaware of my presence until I was standing beside him. Without looking at me, he said, “I was just thinking, it’s amazing how power can change things. The truth is whatever he says, regardless if it’s actually true or not. It’s the reason why I stayed away and the reason why Arthur avoids his own family. No one can refuse the ambassador.”

  “You’re saying you think he’s responsible for that news story?”

  “Of course. Did you think that was coincidental? Both Stuart and Edward are running for office. There can’t be any scandals associated with the Cross name. That’s why he’s taking care of the situation with Henry before focusing on Arthur. He’s prioritizing,” he said, grimacing as if he ate something bitter.

  I nodded and waited for Rick to continue.

  “I was really worried about you. After all that’s happened this past weekend. I mean, I woke up and you were gone. You left a note and when I tried to call, you didn’t answer.” Rick hesitated, shrugging his shoulders. “Look, Jordan, I’m not trying to tell you what to do. I know you can take care of yourself. I just, well, I want to be there for you, to help you like you’ve helped me. I know that sounds lame, but it’s true. I really love you.”

  When he took my hands in his, I felt butterflies flutter in my stomach. It’s insane the effect the guy had on me. He pulled me in and held me and we just stood there.

  Rick Michaels was one of the kindest people I’d ever met despite all the personal tragedies he’d been through. He was also the first true gentleman and the first guy to treat me like a lady. Still, after a year of dating, he was the only mystery I couldn’t unravel.

  He broke the silence by asking, “So how exactly did you find Bronx?”

  I decided to withhold my source as I felt I might have the need to use leverage against Devin in the near future. I smiled up at Rick coyly, replying, “I have my ways.”

  Rick didn’t press the issue. Instead, he leaned against the balcony and crossed his arms. “What’d he tell you?”

  “Honestly, not enough for the trouble it cost.” I thought about the precarious place I unwittingly put myself in and shuddered. When I glanced up and noticed a pained expression cross his face, I regretted my nonchalant remark. Hoping to make up for it, I added,
“The only details he offered were that Arthur left in a green car and he seemed hesitant about leaving with the driver.”

  “He didn’t say anything else?”

  “Nothing useful. He didn’t give me any info on the kidnapper’s car if that’s what you mean.”

  Rick stood up and began to pace the large, stone balcony until he stopped suddenly. “You said he was hesitant about getting in the car. Was he forced? Was he—”

  I walked over to Rick and took his hands in mine. “Bronx didn’t say he was forced. Arthur went willingly. Are you all right?”

  Rick was no longer looking at me but was suddenly lost in his thoughts, most likely envisioning his favorite cousin being kidnapped. I stood beside him, helpless. Finally, when he refused to return to reality, I touched his shirtsleeve. His crystal blue eyes met mine and I saw agony behind them.

  He took my face in his hands and stared into my eyes. “Please, don’t run off again.”

  “What?”

  “Please don’t run off again. When I woke up this morning and you were gone, I was beside myself. When I couldn’t reach you, I—”

  “Rick.” I took his hands from my face and held them. “You don’t have to worry about me. I can take care of myself.”

  He pulled away and turned back to the balcony wall, staring across the river. “I’m not saying you can’t. I’m just saying, with all that’s happened”— he hesitated.— “I’ve lost a lot of people that I care about, but you, Jordan, I can’t lose you.”

  I crossed the balcony and stood before him, forcing him to look at me. When he finally did, I said, “You’ll never lose me.”

  He put his hands on my waist. He pulled me close and kissed me. Lost in the moment, I could think of nothing but him. It was the sound of someone clearing his throat that thrust me back to reality. Rick released me. We both turned to see Jon, standing in the doorway, looking upset. His eyes darted around as he avoided eye contact. He shoved his hands in his pockets and walked briskly to the other side of the balcony. “There was nothing on TV.”

  I stared after him and felt enormous guilt in the pit of my stomach. I stared up at Rick, wondering why I felt bad about kissing my boyfriend in front of Jon. A strong gust of wind came up from the river, sending a chill through my bones.

  “It’s wicked cold right now,” Jon commented, as if reading my mind. “I bet it’s never this cold in Louisiana in June, is it?”

  I rubbed my arms as another gust blew. “No,” I agreed, “it’s never this cold, period.”

  Still refusing to make eye contact, Jon added, “Anyway, whatever. Tell me about Arthur.”

  I squeezed Rick’s hand reassuringly before walking over to Jon and sitting in a wrought-iron chair. Crossing my legs, I began. “Arthur Cross is one of the ambassador’s youngest children. He teaches at Crowell Academy.”

  “That preppy boarding school you went to?” Jon glared at Rick who clenched his jaw.

  “Anyway,” I continued, “Arthur agreed to come here because his father needed his help on a personal matter. He took care of it, then disappeared. That was a week ago. Now, suddenly, a ransom note appears.”

  Jon smoothed his product-infused black hair. He hopped up and sat on the thick, stone balcony railing. Shooting Rick a quick glance, he shrugged. “I don’t see why that’s our concern. I mean, why’d you take this case? Because he’s a friend of Rick’s?”

  Before I could reply, Rick stepped forward, with clenched fists. “She took it as a favor to me. Arthur’s my cousin.”

  Jon’s eyes lit up and a smirk crossed his lips. He motioned to Rick and then the general area. “Now this makes sense. I guess it shouldn’t surprise me that you’re related to the stiff-lipped, upper class.”

  I saw a flash of rage in Rick’s eyes, but he quickly regained composure, refusing to allow Jon to get the best of him. Instead, he held up his hands. “What’s your problem, man?”

  Jon stared down at a boat filled with eager, colorfully dressed tourists who snapped pictures every other second. I felt anxious as I sat there. The friendship between the two men I cared for the most seemed to be disintegrating before my eyes.

  Jon shook his head. “I’m out of here.”

  He jumped down from his seat. As soon as his feet made contact with the ground, the gun he had secured in his pants fell through his pants leg. It clattered onto the ground.

  I saw it in slow motion, unable to react in time. It went off. I couldn’t breathe as I looked around frantically. Rick and Jon both appeared to be okay. When I realized no one was shot, I exhaled deeply, still shaking, and searched the area for the stray bullet. I found it quickly. The round was deeply-embedded in the mortar on the balcony wall.

  My relief was short-lived. As soon as I stood, Rick rushed at Jon. While neither man was small, Rick was bigger and worked out a lot. In an instant, he had Jon pressed against the wall and held him there securely as he demanded, “Why the hell did you bring a gun here? You could’ve killed us! What’s wrong with you?”

  “Back off,” Jon snapped, his features contorting in pain and rage as he tried to push Rick off. “I brought it for protection. I didn’t know what I was getting into.”

  “Getting into?” Rick repeated. “What are you talking about? You could have killed someone! I can’t believe you have a freaking gun!”

  I envisioned the situation becoming serious fast and decided to defuse it. I rushed over to Rick and grabbed his arm. He looked over at me, but refused to release Jon. “Rick, let him go!” Finally, Rick let go and stormed off.

  I looked at Jon and saw that he was not hurt, but instead, embarrassed. I bent down and picked up the gun, carefully putting it on the wrought-iron patio table. Rick stood apart and I noticed that his hands were shaking, despite his vain attempt to hide the matter by crossing his arms.

  I felt torn about whom to console, so I didn’t move. Glancing back and forth between the two, I said, “No one was hurt, okay? We all need to take a minute.” I turned to Rick. “When I said Jon saved me earlier, I meant it. If he hadn’t shown up with that gun, well, let’s just say Bronx isn’t the type to listen to reasoning.”

  Rick swallowed hard, his eyes focused on the weapon. “Where’d you get that? I know you didn’t bring it as a carry-on, not with the strict weapon laws here.”

  Jon rubbed his nose. “I borrowed it.”

  “Borrowed or stole?” Rick pressed, clenching his fists again. In the year we spent together, I never saw Rick as tense or curt as he had been during the past seventy-two hours. I know he was disturbed by our near-miss with Jon’s thirty-eight, but I feared his uncharacteristic venture away from being levelheaded stemmed more from family problems.

  Jon gave him a dirty look. “I don’t owe you anything.”

  “Oh, yes, you do. You come here uninvited into my cousin’s home and bring a loaded weapon. If you’re gonna carry a gun, make sure you know how to handle it.”

  “Rick!”

  Before I could continue, Jon gave him one more look before storming through the doors back into the flat. I glanced at Rick before chasing after Jon. I caught him with his hand on the front doorknob.

  “Jon, you don’t have to do this. I know it was an accident. Rick does, too. He’s just very stressed. His cousin’s missing and no one has gotten any real sleep all weekend.”

  “I know what you’re doing, but I can’t be here right now.”

  “Where are you going?” I demanded, my voice beginning to rise. I felt fatigued, but my concern for Jon’s well-being trumped my physical needs. Having worked with Jon for nearly two years, I’d learned two hard facts about his personality.

  First, he had a short fuse and second, he often disappeared for days while he was cooling off. It was an incredibly irritating characteristic, but it didn’t diminish his better qualities,
such as loyalty and cunning. Unfortunately, we were not in Boston where he could calm down at his apartment or at a local coffee shop. We were in London and handling a case where a person’s life was at stake. All I needed was to be worrying about Jon while trying to focus on getting Arthur Cross home safely.

  Jon opened the door and a cool breeze blew inside. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine.” He walked out the door.

  I touched his hand and he stopped. “Rick really cares about you and so do I. Can’t we just talk about this? Please?”

  Jon smiled sadly. “Talking about this won’t settle anything. I’ve got to go.”

  I leaned against the doorframe, unable to think of anything else to say.

  He hurried down the steps and across the street. He glanced back at me as he walked away. I watched him until he was out of sight, then I walked inside and closed the door. I turned to see Rick sitting on the couch once more with Jon’s gun.

  “He forgot this,” Rick mumbled, turning the gun over in his large hands. He looked up at me before placing the gun on the coffee table. “I hate guns.”

  Immediately remembering that Rick’s father, David Michaels, had been murdered with a gun when Rick was a toddler, I picked up the pistol. I took it into the guest room where I was staying. I wrapped it in one of my shirts and hid it in my luggage. When I returned to the living room, I noticed Rick had not moved from the couch and was staring blankly into the fireplace. I sat down beside him.