Zanaikeyros - Son of Dragons (Pantheon of Dragons #1)(4)
Jordan sat back in her chair and bristled as the hairs on the back of her neck stood up. Great, just great, as if she didn’t have enough to deal with at the moment: Her current caseload was monstrous; her best friend Macy was about to have abdominal surgery; and her grandmother had recently passed away, leaving her, for all intents and purposes, without a family support system.
Now this?
What else could possibly go wrong?
She brushed her long auburn hair behind her shoulder and sighed. She was tired of dealing with everyone else’s chaos, tired of constantly swimming upstream. She was tired of fighting for a secure place in a sometimes-hostile world, and honestly, she was growing weary of dealing with the scum of the earth on a daily basis, just to make a living.
Something needed to change.
And perhaps that was what all her previous unease was about.
Not being one to get mired in self-pity, she swallowed her trepidation and hit the intercom button on her phone. “Janice?”
“Yes, Jordan?” her secretary replied immediately, her cheery, singsong voice playing through the speakers like a merry tune of light.
“I need you to place a trace on the last call you sent through.”
“Is everything all right?” Janice asked, her gaiety instantly fading to concern.
“No, not really,” Jordan said. “The guy on the phone was a real creep, a disgruntled ex-con, and I think he’s been stalking me. We’re going to need to file a report.” She sighed, betraying her exhaustion. “Oh, and while you’re at it, would you pull up all the files we have from the last seven years of sexual predators who we’ve successfully prosecuted, then cross-reference them for those who were recently paroled with an inmate number 28765—the number might be bogus, but check it just the same. It could save us a lot of time. Also, look for males between the age of nineteen and twenty-five, those who might have a South American accent.”
Janice paused for a moment. When she finally spoke, her tone was unmistakably somber. “Sure, Jordan. Sheesh…I’m sorry.”
“Yeah,” Jordan said. “Me, too.” She disconnected the call, not wanting to focus any more energy on gloom and doom. And then she picked up her cell and texted Macy: Hey, M. I’m gonna need a rain check on dinner. Something came up. I can probably still do coffee a little later, maybe meet for cinnamon buns at the Two Forks Mall, instead??? Does 8:30 work for you?
Macy texted right back: Sure, J. Hope everything’s okay. See you at 8:30.
Jordan smiled in spite of her current concerns. Not unlike her secretary, Macy was always a bright light in Jordan’s occasionally dim world, and it was very important for Jordan to keep their engagement—Macy was going into the hospital on Monday for laparoscopic surgery, to have a benign tumor removed from her abdominal wall, and the last thing Jordan wanted was to leave her best friend hanging, especially when Macy’s nerves were already frayed. The girl had always been there for her, and she intended to return the favor. She would be damned if some psycho and his drama, legitimate threat or not, would keep her from supporting Macy. The latter just wasn’t an option.
The intercom buzzed in her office, and she hit the neon-green button. “What’ve you got?”
“I’m still working on the trace,” Janice said, “but I’ve already found twelve files, all convicted sex offenders, all sentenced in the last few years, and all with Latin surnames—I’m going to have to call corrections to check on the inmate number, but I’ll send them through to your email. Let me know if you want me to cross-check CDIC or NCIC, just to see if there’s anything new, especially if the guy has been released since we archived the files.” She tapped away on her keyboard and double-clicked her mouse, the familiar sounds echoing through the speakers. “Oh, and Detective Jacobs is on his way over to take your complaint.”
Jordan smiled. She couldn’t help it. Janice was an excellent assistant, and Detective Mike Jacobs? Well, he was just an excellent cop. Not to mention, a really good man: a hard-nosed investigator who had a crazy sixth sense when it came to sniffing out a lowlife. If anyone could get to the bottom of this—quickly, efficiently, and with aplomb—make sure that Jordan was safe, it was Mike. Besides, there was no point in jumping the gun or freaking out, ruminating about all the morbid possibilities at this juncture: whether the caller was a talker or a doer, whether he just wanted to scare Jordan witless, or whether he was actually capable of acting out some sick, demented fantasy, going further than just peeping through her ninth-floor window with a pair of binoculars.
Either way, Mike would figure it out, and in the meantime, Jordan would do her due diligence and keep her energy positive for Macy.
Bad things had happened before, and evil people existed in the world…
They always had.
But the good ones were all that mattered.
One way or another, Jordan would handle the situation. She always did. And more than likely, Mike would have the crackpot in custody before she finished having coffee with Macy, especially if the idiot was dumb enough to give her his real inmate number.
Opening her email, Jordan clicked on the link Janice had just provided and began to download the files.
Chapter Three
Jordan sat across the table from Macy in the Two Forks Mall, Cinnamon Café, and slowly licked her lips, savoring the last sticky bite of her cinnamon bun. “Oh my gosh,” she groaned, “that was heavenly.”