Lost Distinction (Jordan James, PI Series)

by Rachel Sharpe

  “I knocked. In most cultures, that is considered a warning.”

  “What’re you doing here?”

  We both turned toward Rick. His jaw was clamped and he glared at Jon suspiciously.

  Jon, in turn, narrowed his gaze. “I’m here to do my job. Is that going to be a problem?”

  Before either could speak, I replied quickly, “No, that’s not a problem.”

  Rick turned away, but muttered, “Thanks for coming.”

  “So heartfelt.” Jon rolled his eyes, but dropped the subject. Instead, still leaning against the car’s doorframe, he said, “This place is really creepy. Seems like a super place for a ransom drop at midnight.”

  I stared at the gray brick and stone structure. “It doesn’t seem too creepy to me. It just looks like an old church. I still don’t know where we’re supposed to make this drop if there’s not an alley.”

  Jon whistled. “Really? This place isn’t creepy? A six-hundred-year-old church. At night. Do you not see the grinning skulls in the churchyard?”

  My ears pricked at the mention of a churchyard. “A churchyard?” I replied, staring up into his eyes. “Where’s the churchyard? This building’s on the corner of two streets and has other buildings surrounding it.”

  A grin slowly formed on Jon’s face. It was his superiority grin that always appeared when he figured something out before me. He slapped his chest with his right hand and shook his head. “Jordan, Jordan, Jordan. Are you telling me that you haven’t staked this place out? You didn’t even drive around it to check out every angle?”

  “Jon—”

  He clicked his tongue and continued. “I’m surprised. That’s not the way you usually work, but then again,” he glanced at Rick. “Never mind. Anyway, since it’s still early, why don’t we go check it out? I’m pretty sure it’ll go down in the churchyard.”

  He opened my car door and offered his hand to help me climb out. I glanced back at Rick before accepting it. “Thanks.”

  Rick unbuckled his seatbelt and opened his car door. Instantly, Jon suggested, “He needs to stay here, right? I mean, the kidnapper’s not gonna have Arthur with him. We’re gonna need to keep the car running so we can follow him.”

  Rick furrowed his brow and turned to me for support. I hesitated. “Actually, that might not be a bad idea. We may be dropping off money, but I don’t plan on letting some kidnapper get away. Do you mind?”

  Rick slammed his car door. “No, it’s fine.”

  A triumphant grin appeared on Jon’s face as I grabbed the briefcase and carried it across the street. When we were several yards away from the car, he looked me up and down. “Nice jacket.”

  “Shut up.” I pulled the jacket closer. “It’s Rick’s. I didn’t bring one with me.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  When we reached the church, Jon took the street to the left, walking slowly and quietly in hopes of avoiding detection. I was startled when we reached the entrance to the churchyard. Connected to the stone structure was a wrought-iron fence that was heavily rusted with age but this fact was hidden beneath thick, black paint.

  We walked along the length of it until we reached the wrought-iron gate. Above the gate was a stone arch that connected the fence with two imposing stone pillars. Embedded in the arch were three, grinning skulls. I felt a shiver run down my spine as I stared at the macabre image.

  “It’s pretty wicked, right?” Jon grinned. “Can you imagine a more awesome place for a ransom drop?”

  Incapable of tearing my eyes away from the haunting sight, I replied, “I don’t think I’d describe this as wicked awesome.”

  “How would you describe it?”

  “Let’s see, disturbing comes to mind.” I slowly approached the ancient gate. I reached out and grabbed the right one and slowly began to pull it toward me. It screeched and groaned in protest.

  “Trying to wake the dead?”

  I shot him a dirty look, but didn’t reply. Instead, I squeezed through the opening, careful not to let the briefcase get caught in the bars. Jon opened the gate all the way before entering the “Churchyard of St. Ghastly Grim,” as Charles Dickens so aptly referred to it.

  The magnificent branches of a large tree inside the right corner of the churchyard blocked out most of the moonlight. I paused, trying to allow my eyes to adjust to the deep darkness. Ancient headstones were arranged in rows and I walked around them, mindful of the occupants below.

  “So what’re we doing?” Jon whispered as he followed. ”The ransom note said there’d be a glass bottle on the left side of the alley. We’re supposed to leave the money here.”

  When we reached the far left corner, something shiny caught my eye. I hurried over to it and realized it was a beer bottle on its side and the moonlight reflected off it.

  “How do you know that’s the right bottle? I’m sure plenty of bums leave booze out here.”

  “Really? Come on, Jon. Look around! This place is clean. There’s no way a place like this would let a bum to hang out and drink the night away.”

  Jon grumbled as he pulled some ivy off the side of the brick building, which made up the left wall of the churchyard. He threw the ivy down and stared at me as I placed the briefcase beside the bottle. As soon as I stood up, he knelt down and opened the worn, leather case. I began to protest until he exclaimed, “You’ve got to be kidding me. This isn’t even real money!”

  I rushed to the case and peered inside. Large stacks of crisp, new foreign currency stared back at me. I sighed before punching Jon’s shoulder. “That’s real money, genius. Just not American money.”

  “I know. I was just messing with you.”

  Before I could respond, I heard the gate screech loudly.

  I held a finger to my lips as I closed the case again and motioned for Jon to follow me. Swiftly, we tiptoed across dewy blades of grass and hid in the shadows of a smaller tree near the back.

  I thought the new arrival might have been Rick until I noticed a flashlight bounce along as someone dressed in black hurried to the spot where we left the briefcase. I squinted to get a better view and felt a knot well in my throat when I realized this man wore a black ski mask similar to the gunman in my recurring nightmare.

  I heard Jon’s breathing and knew he was right beside me, but I didn’t say a word. The masked man grabbed the case and, with his left leg propped up disrespectfully on a headstone, opened it to count the money.

  I swallowed hard and tried to will my heart rate to slow down. Less than ninety yards away stood Arthur Cross’s kidnapper, greedily counting his blood money. I knew that whatever approach I took would have to be well thought out if I hoped to get Arthur back unharmed. I knew this. What I didn’t know was that my cell phone was on. I didn’t, that is, until it rang.

  The masked man’s head shot up as he looked around, dropping his flashlight in the process. “Who’s there?” a young male voice demanded. He shut the case and turned on his heel.

  I knew at that moment I had only one course of action available, run. Pushing off on my right foot, I sprinted toward him through the darkness like a cheetah on the hunt.

  My plan caught him off guard and he tripped over a headstone, dropping the briefcase a few yards away. Instead of trying to retrieve it, he raced for the gate. I caught up to him in the middle of the churchyard and grabbed his left arm, whirling him around.

  He swung at me, but I ducked. Popping back up, I punched him in the stomach and he cried out, doubling over in pain. His agony was short-lived. Before I realized what had happened, he punched me on the left side of my jaw.

  Stinging pain shot through my face, bringing tears to my eyes, but I ignored it. When he swung again, I dropped down. With a sweeping motion, I kicked his right leg, knocking him to the ground.

  “Where’s Arthur?” I leane
d over to grab him by his too-tight black turtleneck.

  He rolled over and I stared into the same frightening dead eyes that haunted my dreams. While I was momentarily paralyzed by fear, I didn’t notice the gun in his right hand until he pistol-whipped me. I heard the sound of the gun strike my head. Then everything went black.

  When I opened my eyes, I was greeted by the lavender-blue night sky. There were no stars, but the moon shone bright, high overhead. It had a yellowish tint to it. Suddenly, Jon rushed into my view with a panicked look on his face.

  “Jordan! Are you all right?”

  Before I could reply, I heard Rick’s voice in the distance. “What happened? Don’t touch her! Don’t move her!” Rick appeared in my view. His blue eyes were open wide and his features contorted in a look of concern. “Jordan? Can you hear me?”

  “He clocked her with his gun and she went down,” Jon explained, his voice filled with panic. “I chased after him, but he got away.”

  “I don’t care about that,” Rick snapped. I felt a hand touch my head. “No! Don’t move her. She might have a concussion. I need to see if her eyes are dilated. Dammit! I wish there was more light out here.”

  “Oh! Hold on,” Jon exclaimed, rushing out of my view. He returned and shone the masked man’s flashlight in my eyes. I shut them and groaned.

  “Jordan?” Rick asked, softly. “Are you all right? Did she just go straight down or did she hit that headstone?”

  “I don’t know.” I felt gentle but strong fingers forcing my eyes open. “Are you sure you should be doing that?”

  “Yes,” Rick snapped again, opening my left eye and then my right and shining the light into them. “I worked as a volunteer at a hospital a few summers ago. I need to see if she has a concussion. Well, her pupils aren’t dilated. That’s good.”

  “I’m fine,” I groaned, trying to sit up. They both held me down.

  “Jordan? Can you hear me?”

  “Yeah,” I reached up and felt my face. The skin was tender to the touch, but it didn’t feel like anything was broken.

  “How do I sound?” Rick pressed. “Do you hear any ringing in your ears? Are you tired?”

  “Am I tired?” I repeated. “I just slept twelve hours. I may have jet lag, but I’m not a ferret, so no, I’m not tired.”

  Jon started laughing. “She’s fine.”

  “Not necessarily. We need to get her to a hospital.”

  “No!” I shook my head to protest, but it resulted in a painful throbbing. I grabbed my head and leaned against the headstone, silently apologizing to its owner. “I just got hit in the head. It’s gonna hurt, but I’m not dizzy or nauseous. And apparently, my pupils aren’t dilated. Give me a minute. He really got away? Son of a—”

  “You shouldn’t worry about that right now.”

  “Yeah, he got away,” Jon interrupted.

  “How?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Ugh.” Shutting my eyes as a wave of nausea passed through me, I asked, “By car, motorcycle, what? Did someone pick him up?”

  “No, he had a car. A little green thing. By the time I got out the churchyard, he was driving away.” Jon glanced at Rick, frowning. “If somebody bothered to stay in the car like I told him, maybe he could’ve followed the guy and tonight wouldn’t have been a total bust.”

  “Why don’t you say that to my face?”

  “Anytime,” Jon retorted.

  “Guys give it a rest, all right?” I groaned. Perfect, I thought. Not only did the ransom drop fail and the masked man got away, but I also get to deal with two territorial alpha male wannabes.

  I blinked several times and took a few deep breaths before trying to stand up. This time, they didn’t try to stop me. Instead, they both offered way too much support and I had to say, “It’s okay. I’m fine.”

  “Man, you were amazing!” Jon laughed when I was upright. He mimicked some of my moves. “That was wicked awesome. You totally nailed him.”

  “Yeah, well, it didn’t do much good.” I dusted freshly-cut blades of grass off my pants and Rick’s jacket.

  “You fought that guy?”

  “Fought him? She totally kicked his—”

  “Jon, it wasn’t a big deal,” I interrupted. Turning to Rick, I explained, “My phone went off. Totally screwed everything up. I had to improvise. Who called me anyway?” I pulled out the phone and checked the missed calls log. It was my sister. “Great. Could this night get any better?”

  Chapter 19

  After some serious debating, Rick finally relented about me going to the hospital. This victory didn’t last. Our return to the flat was a grim one. Rick insisted on being the one to return the money to the ambassador and explain the situation.

  I could tell from the moment we walked inside and Gatlin Cross saw the briefcase that he was already aware of the outcome.

  “You failed.” He placed the case on the coffee table before pouring himself a glass of scotch. “What happened?”

  Rick explained the situation as best he could. However, he refused to mention the detail about my cell phone tipping off the kidnapper. The ambassador sipped his drink quietly, staring off into the unlit fireplace as Rick recounted the tale.

  I stood beside him, my jaw throbbing in pain. I refused to show any sign of weakness. It struck me that the ambassador’s concern for appearances did not end when he went to sleep. It was half past one in the morning and he greeted us in a crushed, red-velvet robe over pristine navy-blue, pin-striped pajamas.

  Before a word was spoken, Jon hurried out to the balcony, muttering he had a phone call to make. Once Rick finished, he stood with his chin up as he awaited the ambassador’s response.

  The ambassador finished his drink and placed the glass on the small, wooden bar. Turning toward us, he said, “That’s it, then. There’s nothing more I can do. If the kidnapper contacts me again, I’ll notify Scotland Yard. I have no other choice now.”

  Rick looked at me, perplexed. “What exactly are you saying?”

  The ambassador tightened the sash, which secured the robe and smoothed his silver-blond hair. Staring Rick in the eyes without an inkling of emotion, he replied, “I no longer need Miss James’s services. This may have simply been an impossible task. I don’t even know if I’ll hear from the kidnapper again. Tomorrow morning, Devin will purchase plane tickets to Boston for all three of you. You may send an invoice for your services to my assistant in the States. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a funeral to plan.”

  He headed down the hallway. I stared after him, too surprised to reply.

  The look on Rick’s face suggested a combination of shock and frustration. He shook his head and began to pace the living room. “I don’t believe him. This can’t be it. We didn’t come all this way and get this close to give up!”

  I sat down on the couch, watching him pace. “I agree with you, but we don’t have any more leads. How’re we supposed to move forward? If the car was green, it’s probably the one that picked Arthur up in Aldgate. But, we know nothing about the car, unless you got the plates.”

  “No. I saw Jon chasing after it, but I wasn’t fast enough. When Jon yelled that you were hurt, that was it. I knew I needed to get to you.”

  I felt a pang of guilt that I was the reason Rick didn’t get the information that could have led to Arthur. He continued to pace, then suddenly, he stopped. Looking up to the ceiling with his fists clenched, I thought he might scream.

  Instead, he gritted his teeth and breathed deeply. “It can’t end here. Arthur,” Taking another deep breath, he calmly said, “Arthur is okay. I know he’s okay. He’s got to be. If only we knew who drove that damn car.”

  “His name’s Oliver Harris.”

  We both turned and saw Jon walk inside, closing the balcony doors behind
him. He shoved his cell phone in his pocket and stopped. He and Rick were inches apart, glaring at each other. I suddenly worried that they might begin another confrontation.

  Instead, Rick asked, “What?”

  Jon puffed out his chest. “When I ran out of that cemetery after him, I couldn’t catch up, so I took a picture of the car’s plates. I texted it to my cousin, Sophie.”

  “But how’d you find out who he is?” I sputtered. “We don’t have contacts like that in London.”

  “You mean you don’t have any contacts in London. I do. Sophie’s a journalist here and has lots of connections. She got me his name and address.”

  Before we had a chance to respond, Rick threw his arms around Jon and hugged him. Jon’s eyes widened in surprise and he pushed Rick off, frowning. “Dude! What the hell?”

  “Sorry,” Rick muttered, backing off. “I couldn’t help myself. You may have saved Arthur.”

  “We don’t know that for sure. Now, where’s the old guy? I want to see if he knows an Oliver Harris. Do you know an Oliver Harris?”

  “I’ve never heard that name before in my life.”

  I closed my eyes as a sudden wave of pain hit me. Grabbing my head, I tried to shake it off. By the time I opened my eyes, I saw Rick and Jon both sitting on either side of me on the couch with concerned looks on their faces. “I’m fine. No concussion. Just bruises, probably a whole lot of them. What? Do I look like I got hit by that double-decker bus?”