Lost Distinction (Jordan James, PI Series)

by Rachel Sharpe

  I paused as we entered the dining room, careful that my boots did not click on the wood-veneer floors and therefore give us away. As soon as I paused, Jon ran into me and almost knocked me over. I grabbed one of the chairs, miraculously managing not only to stay upright, but also to refrain from making a loud noise during the process.

  He whispered an apology while I walked around the table, heading through two swinging doors that led to the kitchen. All the lights were off in the kitchen except for a sliver of light that illuminated a door at the end of the narrow room. I flashed the light around the room, making sure we were alone before I cautiously approached the door. Someone grabbed my left arm in the darkness and I spun around. It was Rick.

  “Do you have the gun?” he whispered.

  “What?”

  “The gun. Where is it?”

  “Oh, crap,” I grimaced when I realized in horror I had left it back at the flat.

  “You don’t have it?” Grabbing his head, he began to pace the room. “I knew this was a bad idea.”

  “I’m sorry.” Swallowing hard, I added, “We’ll have to make do.”

  “Great plan,” Jon muttered.

  Although I couldn’t see him, I knew he was either shooting me a dirty look or rolling his eyes. I glowered in his direction. “Get over yourself.”

  “Hold on,” Rick whispered as I approached the door again. “You can’t go in there.”

  “I know what I’m doing,” I replied, suddenly feeling annoyed by his “chivalrous” offer to do my job for me. Again. Just as quickly, I felt remorseful and added, “Watch my back. Please?”

  I reached for the doorknob and took a deep breath before pushing it open. In a small laundry room, strapped to a black folding chair, sat Arthur Cross. His blond hair was greasy and matted. His face was gaunt and his green eyes frightened.

  A piece of duct tape covered his mouth. Thick, nylon rope bound his arms behind his back and his legs together and to the chair. His face and arms were bruised and caked with dried blood. He blinked as he stared at me anxiously. The terrified expression remained on his face until he saw Rick. A single tear ran down Arthur’s dirty cheek. His head fell forward as he fought to hold back another.

  I knelt down beside the chair. I untied his arms and legs. He ripped off the tape. Using the chair for support, he stood up on shaky legs.

  I backed out of the tiny room, allowing him space to move while warning him to keep quiet.

  He acknowledged my warning with a tired nod before turning his attention to Rick. They stood in silence, staring at each other. Suddenly, Rick reached forward and hugged Arthur who weakly gripped him. Despite the filth, Rick held his cousin, offering him both physical and emotional support.

  After a moment, Rick released his cousin and laughed, quietly teasing him about his disheveled appearance. Arthur smiled feebly.

  Jon quietly cleared his throat. “Sorry to interrupt this, uh, Hallmark moment, but we gotta get out of here. Now. Who knows when that guy’s coming back?”

  The overhead light turned on, blinding me momentarily. I blinked, forcing my eyes to readjust. As they did, it became clear we weren’t alone.

  The masked gunman from earlier appeared before us in the same attire he wore in the churchyard.

  “Actually, he’s here. Well, isn’t this interesting?” He smiled sadistically. He raised the gun in his hand and pulled the trigger.

  Chapter 20

  A terror-filled scream followed.

  I stared around the room frantically. A lump rose in my throat. Arthur crumpled on the floor, holding his left leg. Blood drenched his jeans.

  Rick was on the ground beside him in an instant. He tried to calm Arthur down and stop the bleeding. Jon stood beside me, paralyzed by fear as he watched the scene unfold. I forced myself to look away. I met the gaze of the gunman.

  Swallowing hard, I suggested, “Don’t you think the mask is a little pointless now, Oliver?”

  “You’re right,” he agreed, pulling off the mask to reveal a familiar redhead. Devin O’Malley, the ambassador’s assistant.

  “Devin?” I stared at him in disbelief. “This doesn’t make any sense. Isn’t Oliver Harris who kidnapped Arthur?”

  Devin grinned. “You still don’t get it, do you? I am Oliver Harris.”

  “What?” A chill ran down my spine. “But, you’re British!”

  “Right,” he mocked me. “Because all British people sound like Eliza Doolittle.”

  “How the hell did you manage this? The ambassador is a powerful, connected man! How could you have tricked him into thinking you were some made up guy named Devin O’Malley?”

  Oliver pulled a cigarette from his pocket and lit it. He grinned at me as he puffed. “Devin O’Malley wasn’t made up. He was a real person. I just made sure no one found his body and never filed a death certificate at the hospital. You know, I really thought you made me earlier. You’re not quite the detective you think you are, love.”

  “So you killed Devin O’Malley?” I ignored his jibes. He licked his chapped lips and blew smoke in my direction.

  “It’s amazing what a doctor can get away with,” he marveled in a very American accent. “For the record, though, I didn’t kill O’Malley. He died of a stroke. Amazing, isn’t it? For someone young to die like that.”

  “Arthur’s losing a lot of blood,” Rick called out, his voice cracking.

  I looked over my shoulder. Rick had torn his undershirt in half and tried to make a tourniquet to stop the bleeding. Arthur was leaning against the wall, drenched in sweat with his eyes half open. There was so much blood saturating his jeans they shined. Jon stood beside me.

  “Ooh, that looks pretty bad.” Oliver whistled. Twirling the gun in his hand, he added, “Don’t worry. I made sure to miss the femoral artery. I’d just hate for our boy here to have a nice, quick death.”

  My stress level became suffocating. Overwhelmed, I uttered a series of expletives that would have made a sailor blush. Oliver grinned, taking a puff of his cigarette and clicking his tongue. He wagged his finger at me. “Now, now, that’s not very ladylike.”

  Breathing evenly, I gritted my teeth. “I know Arthur is sorry for what happened to your sister. Looks like you’re pretty obsessed with him. You should know all he’s done to make amends.”

  Oliver’s face contorted at the mention of his sister. “He didn’t do anything,” he growled. “All that he did was make himself look good to the media.”

  “What media? Arthur avoids the spotlight!” I paused, taking time to reflect on how to proceed in this situation. Enraging a calculating psycho with a gun was not the best strategy. Calmly, I added, “What happened to your sister is tragic, but he was a kid. He’s lived with the guilt his entire life.”

  “He’s lived with the guilt?” he repeated with feigned concern. “While he’s lived with the guilt, my sister has lived in agony. He destroyed her life! The sick part is she couldn’t tell anyone because my parents made a deal with the devil.” His brow furrowed as he recalled the incident. “I went to med school after my sister’s accident, ironically on the ambassador’s dime, but he didn’t know that. Probably wouldn’t care. I became a doctor to help people, but I couldn’t help her. She may have ended it all this month, but she was dead long ago.”

  “Is that why you work for the ambassador?” I blinked. “How long have you been planning your revenge?”

  “It didn’t start out as revenge,” he insisted, leaning against the oak cabinets and watching Arthur with macabre amusement. “I guess it was just a matter of opportunity. I treated O’Malley and learned he had an interview with the ambassador. He died of a stroke in the hospital before they ever met. Very convenient, actually.”

  “And you just took his place?” I marveled. “Didn’t anyone notice?”

&n
bsp; Oliver shrugged. “You know that old expression about keeping your enemies close? I decided to take the opportunity to look in on America’s favorite family. I watched Mr. Cross bail his children out countless times and saw how little they cared. While all this was going on, Francine fought depression, something she suffered with even before the accident.”

  “Then, why didn’t you do something about it?” I asked.

  Oliver glared at me. “I spoke to her the night before she killed herself. Her boyfriend had just dumped her because he said he wanted children and she couldn’t have any. I was furious, but she was calm. She insisted it was all right. She even sounded cheerful. That was the last time I spoke with her.”

  “Sounds like you’re mad at the wrong person,” I suggested. “Her boyfriend set her off, not Arthur.”

  “She never would’ve been with a jerk like that if he hadn’t destroyed her life!” Oliver glared at Arthur maliciously. “I haven’t decided if I would rather see him die slowly or paralyze him the way he did Francine. What do you think?”

  Taking a step forward, I replied, “I think he’s losing a lot of blood and needs medical attention.”

  Oliver waved the gun dismissively. “I told you I’m a doctor. I have no intention of letting him off that easily. Death would be a sweet release,” he trailed off as he stared at me. “You know, you’re pretty hot despite all that annoying girl power and Kung Fu crap.”

  “Am I supposed to say thank you?”

  He finished the cigarette and extinguished it in the stainless-steel sink. “Take it as you like, love. You fascinate me. The moment I saw you on that plane, I was intrigued. When you connected me to Bronx through a tiny slip of paper? Genius. Honestly, I thought you figured it all out on the balcony.”

  “So Henry? That your handiwork, too?”

  “I won’t lie. Yeah,” he smiled. “That bloke had a death wish, though. I didn’t hold a gun to his head or anything, but when he came begging for more, I made sure to give him a little extra that last time.”

  He winked and I grimaced.

  “The one mystery I can’t solve is why you’re with the whiny putz,” he said, motioning at Rick, who was still holding the bloody T-shirt tightly around Arthur’s thigh.

  Oliver ran his fingers through red hair and took a step toward me. As soon as he did, Jon stepped closer as well, his hands balled into fists. Oliver laughed. “That’s another mystery. If you’re with that one, why string this one along?”

  I glanced at Jon. His face was bright red and his jaw clenched as he glared at Oliver. I heard Rick curse and saw him shaking Arthur’s shoulder. “He’s losing consciousness.”

  Before I had a chance to respond, Oliver lit another cigarette. Clenching it in his teeth, he replied, “We can’t have that now. It’s just beginning to get interesting. Maybe if I shoot his other leg that’ll wake him up. Let’s try.”

  I didn’t think. I reacted. As he cocked the hammer, I lunged forward. I knocked the gun out of his hand. It landed a few feet from the swinging doors.

  While he was startled, I punched him as hard as I could on his jaw, causing us to both cry out in pain. The kitchen was narrow. There wasn’t much room to move. When he tried to kick me, I ducked and his gangly leg slammed into the cabinets.

  My heart pounded as I avoided another attack. I punched him in the stomach. He cried out again and answered my assault by hitting the bruise on my jaw.

  Jon decided this would be a great opportunity to go for the gun, but his plan failed. As Oliver struck my jaw, he noticed Jon and kicked him hard between the legs. Jon doubled over in agony. Oliver raced over and grabbed the gun.

  Wiping blood from his lip, he pointed the gun at me. “Now why’d you have to go and do that? This is my favorite black shirt and now it’s all stretched out.”

  I saw Jon squat, tears of pain in his eyes. I tried to think of a plan, but couldn’t. “What are you gonna do, Oliver?”

  Oliver grinned, blood between his teeth. He picked up the simmering cigarette from the floor and took a drag. “To be honest, Artie and I weren’t expecting company. Don’t get me wrong. This makes it more interesting, but it was unexpected.”

  He paced the narrow room. “Tell you what, because I’m still kinda into you, I’ll give you a choice. You tell me which one of these blokes to shoot, and I’ll let you and the other one go free. Now, Arthur isn’t leaving here unless it’s in a body bag, but there isn’t a reason a fit bird like you should die.” He laughed. “Forgive the expressions. I’ve been pretending to be English so long, it’s become second nature. You have two minutes.”

  It’s funny to think that one small decision a person makes can have such a large impact on the lives of so many others. Every choice made, no matter how great or how small, leads an individual down a path and toward an unknown future.

  I never realized until now how significant even the most seemingly irrelevant decisions are and that if one doesn’t choose wisely, the results of those actions can lead to the absolute destruction of the lives of people one may not even know. Arthur’s one foolish move in his youth culminated years later in Francine’s suicide.

  It now put not only his life in danger, but also the lives of others. I felt sick as I considered Oliver’s twisted offer.

  I turned. Rick and Jon were both standing up, facing me. Rick’s hands and jacket were stained bright red with Arthur’s blood and Jon’s usually perfect hair was tussled from his brief altercation with Oliver. I looked at them. They both offered a similar, stoic expression. Rick stepped forward and took my hands in his.

  “Jordan, I love you.” He paused, staring down at my hands and squeezing them. Swallowing hard, he looked up again and added, “I knew it the moment I first saw you. You’ve been the single greatest thing in my life. This is all my fault.”

  “Damn right it is,” Jon muttered.

  “I’m so sorry I got you involved in this,” Rick continued, ignoring Jon. “If it weren’t for me, well, whatever happens, just know I love you. I’ve always loved you.”

  Oliver pretended to sniff behind us as he commented on how beautiful Rick’s sentiments were. I ignored him. I held on to Rick for support and stared up into his crystal blue eyes.

  Before I could react, Rick kissed me. My mind went blank and in that instant, there was only us. A tortured cry from Arthur brought us back to cold reality. Rick let me go and hurried back to his wounded cousin’s side.

  As I stared down at Arthur, I could see we were losing him. There was so much blood.

  “I,” Jon hesitated, taking slow, deep breaths. I looked up at him. When he met my gaze, there was a strong resolve set in his green eyes. “I love you.”

  “What?”

  “Dammit!” He groaned, then scratched his head before putting his hands on his hips and staring at the ceiling.

  In the dim lighting, I could tell he was blushing.

  Avoiding my gaze, he said, “This is, I don’t know, damn. I’m not good at this crap. Rick’s the freakin’ poet, not me. Give me a well-written script and I can make ice melt, but impromptu, ugh, dammit.”

  “Jon—”

  “No, hear me out,” he insisted. “I know it’s wrong. I know you’re with Rick, but hell, we’re all about to die anyway, right? You need to hear this. I love you.”

  “So touching,” Oliver scoffed. Crossing the room, he stood beside me and I felt a cold chill run down my spine as he touched my lower back.

  Leaning closer, he whispered, “It’s been two minutes. Make your choice.” Laughing, he added, “You know, to make it more interesting, I think I’ll shoot Arthur first.”

  I stood there, helplessly. Arthur was slumped on the floor mere yards away, but the distance seemed far greater as Oliver aimed his pistol at us.

  Suddenly, I realized Rick was no longer besid
e his cousin. He rushed forward. He put himself between Oliver and Arthur. My heart raced, pounding in my ears, as I watched in horror. Just as quickly, I realized Jon moved beside Rick in an attempt to protect Arthur.

  I held up my hands. “Wait. We can work this out. Please, give me some more time.”

  Oliver stared at me with dead eyes. “Time’s up,” he replied as his finger slid in front of the trigger. “You could only save one—”

  POP!

  The sound, like firecrackers on the 4th of July, echoed. Again, I didn’t bother to think. I just reacted. I rushed Oliver, moving faster than I had since trying to outrun David Michaels’ killer in Boston. My shoulder made contact with his chest.

  POP! POP!

  I blinked and realized I was on the floor, but the gun was now in my hand. Oliver lay beside me, dazed. My ears were ringing as people surrounded me. Rick pulled me onto his lap as Jon knelt beside me and took the gun.

  As my eyes began to focus, I noticed bright red on his hands. His face was a light shade of green. It was only then that the ringing subsided and I heard them.

  “Oh, man. This isn’t good,” Jon groaned. “She’s bleeding pretty bad.”

  “I know that,” Rick snapped. “Grab the rope and tie Oliver up. Now. Make sure it’s tight. And call the police. They’re gonna need medical attention.”

  Jon stood up and moments later, I saw him return with the rope and from the corner of my eye, I watched him tie Oliver’s hands together. I felt safe as I rested against Rick’s strong chest. With his right arm, Rick leaned me forward and slowly tried to remove the leather jacket. It was at that moment that I first felt searing pain. I cried out and Rick stopped.