Jessica Beckett is a survivor of unspeakable acts upon her
as a child and is now a determined woman. She is determined
to survive her job. She is a bounty hunter in Chicago who
sometimes tackles a personal agenda, when children are
involved, seeking evil men. She has hired a computer savvy
intern, someone to assist her, but has promised herself to
keep him out of danger, bodily and legally. Sometimes she
walks a thin line legally. That's where her best friend
comes in.
Detective Samantha Cooper has known Jessica since
childhood. She understands what drives Jessica to put her
life on the line, but she hopes that she will not have to
arrest Jessica someday when she has taken her personal
agenda too far. And she also hopes that her friendship with
Jessica will not cost her a promotion.
Payton Archer is a has-been, a loser football quarterback
who couldn't cut it in the NFL. At least, that's how he
sees himself. Now he hides out in Alaska, burying his woes
in the bottle. That's his MO until Nikki Archer, his only
niece, runs away from home. Payton promises his only sister
he will get her daughter back.
With the help of an old family friend, Payton follows the
clues from Alaska to Chicago to meet his police contact,
Detective Cooper. Meanwhile, Jessica discovers some
information that she shares with Samantha. This is where
everyone's path meets. Together Jessica, Payton, and their
friends track someone they believe is attached to an online
predator. The evidence that Nikki has fallen victim to the
predator sobers up Payton, and Jessica becomes even more
determined to see this case through. Jessica and Payton are
instantly attracted to each other. They are able to let
down their guard and find comfort in each other during the
increasingly difficult search for the online predator and
Payton's niece. What Jessica discovers is unbelievably evil
and shocking.
EVIL WITHOUT A FACE is well-written. The premise and the
delivery are presented so skillfully that Jordan
Dane draws in her readers, captures and holds their
attention to the very last word like a tree's roots moving
underground in any direction, its resilient fingers
wrapping around whatever falls in its path. The suspense
and the anxious need to know how the story will end are
riveting. I'm glad EVIL WITHOUT A FACE is the first in a
series of suspenseful stories that include some of the
characters we meet upon these pages.
The Sweet Justice thrillers will focus on the lives and
loves of three women--a bounty hunter operating outside
the law, an ambitious vice cop, and a former international
operative with a mysterious past. These women give Lady
Justice a whole new reason to wear blinders. And their
brand of justice is anything but sweet.
Haunted and Obsessed
She sleeps with a Colt Python in her nightstand and her
senses on alert—Jessica Beckett isn't taking any chances.
Hiding a chilling secret, living in a world of snitches and
felons, good cops and bad dreams, Jessica is a bounty hunter
who brings lowlifes to justice. But not even she can imagine
what she'll face when she tracks an online predator who has
abducted a naive teenage girl.
Making Promises That Can't Be Kept
Former NFL quarterback Payton Archer swore to his sister
that he'd find her only child. But the police have no leads
and the teen's trail has turned cold. Plagued by personal
demons, Payton's never considered himself a hero. But this
time he has to be.
And Fighting a Faceless Enemy
Joining forces to save the seventeen-year-old girl, Payton
and Jessica discover that she's nothing but a pawn in an
insidious, terrifying global conspiracy. They're battling a
new kind of criminal. And soon their race for answers will
become a dangerous struggle for survival.
Excerpt
South Chicago—9:50 pm
The cheap motel room reeked of cigarettes, stale beer, and
pizza—the best thing Charlie Swain could say about the four
walls that closed in on him now. A heat wave kept his AC
cranked. And he had the TV blaring to cover up the sound of
sex from the next room. The woman was a real screamer.
He loved sticking it to a woman who knew how to scream, but
having to listen to someone else do it, left him frustrated
with no options except a five-finger spankfest. He raked
fingers through his thinning hair and lit another cigarette,
pacing the floor.
This dump had been his home for five days, but for the last
two weeks he had lived out of a suitcase, moving from place
to place. While he waited for new ID and a gig with a
connected dealer up north, he'd severed all links to his old
life in the mean time, including his wheels. Buses had
become his new mode of transportation to make his limited
funds stretch. Fake ID would cost him serious coin.
But Charlie knew boredom would be the real test. So when his
cell phone rang, he wanted nothing more than to answer it,
breaking up the monotony. Instead, he let it roll to voice
mail, cautiously screening his calls. He finished the last
of his warm beer and sat on the edge of his mattress until
curiosity needled him into retrieving the message. He didn't
recognize the phone number, but the caller had left voice
mail.
A woman's voice. Crying. Cursing. The melodrama made him
chuckle until he heard a familiar name. The message was
intended for his ex-girlfriend, the bitch. He replayed the
call, trying to make out the words between the curses and
sobs.
Leave my Danny be ... he got me pregnant ... and when I
find out where you live, Annie Rae Miller, I'm gonna ...
What the hell kind of name is that?
Charlie might have found the whole thing entertaining,
except that Annie dumped him before his life went into the
crapper. And now everything made sense. That whore had been
cheating on him with Dan the Man.
"Shit." He threw the beer bottle across the room, shattering
it against the wall.
When his cell phone rang again, he looked at the display and
recognized the number. The same woman was calling back. This
time, he answered it.
"Yeah."
The woman didn't say anything at first, but he heard her
crying. In a soft voice, she finally spoke.
"I'm sorry. I m-must have the ... wrong number. Do you know
w-where I can find ... Annie Rae Miller?"
"I got your last message," he offered. "You think your man's
with her now?"
"Hell, yeah. I know it for a fact. That's why ... "
Rage flooded through him like water hitting a fast boil. He
didn't even listen to what the woman said.
"What's your name again?"
"Sophie."
"Well, Sophie girl, I know this is gonna sound crazy, but
please ... come and get me. I don't have a car at the
moment, but I know where you can find that bitch," he
pleaded. "But you gotta come pick me up first."
It took him time to convince the woman that he was on the
level, but she eventually agreed to pick him up. Women!
Sometimes, they were real gullible. He gave her directions
and twenty minutes later he heard a knock. He crept to the
door and peeked out the peephole, checking out the woman
dabbing her eyes with tissue.
Not bad. He smiled. If things worked out, he might have a
screamer of his own before the night was done. But when
Charlie flung open the door, he came face to face with the
business end of a .357 Magnum Colt Python.
"Hello, Charlie." The woman grinned, aiming the weapon
between his eyes. "Looks like my man Danny isn't the only
one getting screwed."
Taller than he was, she was lean and athletic, glaring at
him with unflinching dark eyes. The woman wore a windbreaker
with the top of her kevlar vest showing, prepared for
business. And she had a scar above an eyebrow, the jagged
mark too nasty to ignore. No shrinking violet, the bitch was
intimidating, even if she weren't carrying a gun.
"You're under arrest for jumpin' bail. You skipped a court
date." She flashed her badge. "Now turn around."
Over her shoulder, she yelled, "I've got him."
She wasn't alone. Resisting arrest would land him in more
trouble with the law, not to mention getting the crap beat
out of him. He'd heard stories about bounty hunters and even
seen them in action on cable.
He took a deep breath and did as he was told. She shoved him
against the wall and cuffed him, frisking him for weapons
after she'd subdued him. He heard her speaking to someone he
couldn't see, but when she shoved him toward a blue van
outside the motel room door, he realized he'd been tricked
again.
"Shit! You were working alone." He launched into a tirade of
curses.
"Not exactly, Charlie. I've got my summer intern with me ...
and if you don't cooperate, he might give you a paper cut."
Charlie shut his eyes and kept walking toward the van,
conceding his fate.
After securing her prisoner in the back, Fugitive Recovery
Agent Jessica Beckett jumped into the front passenger seat
next to Seth Harper, a new hire she jokingly called her
'summer intern'. She hadn't lied about everything.
Harper greeted her with a big grin, handing her ten bucks.
"I'm not betting with you anymore. All you had was his cell
phone and an old girlfriend's name and you still tracked
him. Un-fuckin'-believable."
"Just remember the horn dog factor, Harper." She took his
money. "You can always track a guy through his woman. The
love muscle is nothing but an Achilles Heel. Beckett rule
number one."
Charlie Swain was a no account scrub—a fringe dweller on the
edge of humanity—hustling drugs and stolen merchandise. He
was wanted on two warrants, including skipping a court date
on robbery charges. A real charmer, but relatively harmless
in her world. She made a note to the file she'd compiled on
the guy, a record of the case and her authorization for the
arrest—a certified copy of the warrant.
Top-notch Fugitive Recovery Agents got paid better working
directly for specific bondsmen. Most were ex-military or
former police officers. She didn't have the qualifications,
discipline or temperament to land her anything more than
being a freelancer, catching the odd jobs that usually
didn't pay as much. She had to work twice as hard to make
ends meet, earning her negotiated percentage of the bond
money.
As a woman, building a reputation in this business had been
tough. She realized she could have done better, but kissing
ass wasn't her thing, not even if the ass was Grade A Prime.
To date, cops had been her biggest critics, mostly because
she had to live down the cable TV bounty hunter image. Yet
she had to admit that some of her rep had been well
deserved.
It had been a gamble to hire Harper, but she hoped that with
the proper training, she might gain an eventual partner to
help with the tracking aspects of each case. The quicker she
gathered intel, the better the cash flow would be. Although
she'd never put him at risk by placing him in the line of
fire, Harper had been the one asking to come along on her
arrests.
"Call it in, will ya? And let's get this guy to the cops. A
girl has gotta pay the bills." Jess took a long swig of
water, listening to Harper as he made the call to the
bondsman for the Swain job. "God, this heat is killer. I'm
sweatin' like a pig with an invite to a luau. "
To cool off, she took off the kevlar vest that she wore
under a windbreaker as Harper finished up. After he started
the van and pulled from the motel parking lot, Jess got
another call on her cell. She recognized the phone number,
even though NO NAME appeared on the display. Fingering the
scar above her eyebrow, she prayed the call meant what she
thought it would. Jess took a deep breath and answered.
"Yeah."
"I got a lead on Lucas Baker, but it's gonna cost ya. And
you have to move tonight. No guarantees he'll be there
tomorrow."
After a quick glance at her watch, Jess clenched her jaw and
pictured the face of Baker. The image triggered a flood of
dark memories that she thought she had under control ...
until now.
"Gimme what ya got." Jess grabbed paper and pen. "I'm ready
... more than ready."
***
Chicago, Illinois—Mid-June
On the other side of midnight, the nasty oppressive heat
lingered and made the air dense and sluggish. It clung to
the body of Jessica Beckett like a film of wet gauze,
stifling her breath. The customary cooling effect off Lake
Michigan cowered from it, avoiding the thick and stagnant
mass of unseasonable heat. Dressed in dark jeans, a black
tee under her kevlar vest, and a ball cap, she jogged down
the street, keeping to the shadows, then made her way across
the road. Her gaze shifted to the second floor as she did,
counting the windows so she'd know which room. A dimly lit
one had its shades partially drawn.
A man inside.
She'd paid good money for the tip that the bastard had a
room here, living off the grid trying to escape his pathetic
excuse for a life. And Jess had done her best to contribute
to his problems, targeting Lucas Baker with her obsession.
He had been one slippery weasel to corner, but she
recognized his ugly mug, even from the street below.
Once Jess got across the street, she headed for the side
entrance, down and to the right. Nearing an alley, she
reached for her .357 Magnum Colt Python with its four-inch
barrel and a trigger as smooth as butter. With gun in hand,
she thought of a thousand other places she could've been
tonight, but being a woman on a mission left her little
choice. And she wasn't one to squander an opportunity.
"You see our target?" She spoke into a two-way com set with
radio on her belt, a mic clipped to a sleeve of her tee, and
an earbud. With a shoulder to a brick wall, she peered down
an alley to make sure everything was clear and maintained
her position.
"Affirmative." Her backup, Seth Harper, cleared his throat
and nearly blew her eardrum with the sharp abrasive noise.
She winced.
"Uh, 10-4," he added.
Jess fought a smile when she heard Seth dishing out the
cryptic lingo, resisting the urge to add 'good buddy' after
everything he said. She could picture him now. The kid was
situated in his old beat up Econoline van across the street
and down an alley, probably using binoculars.
"Talk to me. What's he doing?" she prompted, keeping her
voice low. "He got any company?"
Out of habit, she traced a scar along her right eyebrow with
a finger, an old injury from a lifetime ago.
"Negatory. Target at a table, working on a computer. Laptop,
I think."
Baker would have his life on that computer. She could score
big if things went as planned. Jess wanted to avoid the
clerk at the front desk. The tip she got on Baker's
whereabouts warned her the sleaze was tight with the
so-called management of the joint. She had to find another
way in. With plan B in mind, she ducked into the dark alley
and crept along a brick wall, dodging Dumpsters and broken
bottles, keeping a firm grip on the Python. The faint stench
of puke invaded her nostrils, the rank odor made more
caustic with the heat.
She held her breath and moved on, hoping she hadn't stepped
in it. With her luck, she'd be wearing it home.
As Jess neared the back of the dilapidated hotel that rented
rooms by the hour, she flipped her black White Sox ball cap
backwards, rally style. Sweat drenched strands of her dark
hair stuck to her neck, aggravating her mounting discomfort.
She wiped her palms down a pant leg. Carrying a weapon, now
was no time for a slick grip.
Once she got to her destination, she tested the alley door
into the old hotel. Locked. After Jess slipped the Python
into the custom holster she carried at the small of her
back, she pulled out a lock pick kit from her pocket. She
didn't need a light to work by. She'd done this a thousand
times. When the door creaked open, she stashed the kit and
reached for her weapon again.
"I'm going inside. Let me know if he moves." She muttered
into her mouthpiece. "No matter what happens, you stay put
until you hear from me. You understand? No heroics, Seth."
She repeated the instructions she'd given the kid an hour
ago. "Call 911 if things get dicey. Going to radio silence,
now."
"Dicey. Got it."
Seth did his best to maintain radio silence, in his unique
way, but his heavy breathing into the mouthpiece reminded
her of a late night call from a pervert. The kid held the
mic too close to his lips and didn't always release his
transmit switch when he was done, another practice she had
to correct.
Eventually, Seth broke the silence.
"Define dicey."
With no time to set him straight, she slipped through the
back door and shut it behind her, grimacing at the creak of
its rusty hinges. Time to get to work.
Jess squinted as she got inside, looking toward the front
for a way to the second floor. The hallway looked as dismal
as the alley she'd left behind. Gang signs were
spray-painted on the walls in an array of colors. And trash
was strewn along the baseboards and over a stained ratty
carpet that had definitely seen better days. Shoddy wall
sconces were positioned down the hall, but with every other
bulb burned out, the old hotel looked more like a cheap
horror flick. Maybe the dim lights were a blessing in
disguise.
Jess walked past each door with caution, not ruling out an
ambush, but the place had one purpose for most of its
patrons. The sleazy hotel rented by the hour. At the next
door, that thought was reinforced with the unbroken rhythm
of a bed squeak and the steady bang of a headboard against a
wall inside the room. A woman's breath caught as she panted
her encouragement.
"Yeah, baby, do it." She tossed in a theatrical moan and a
gasp. "Harder, that's it. Oh, you're so good."
It didn't take long for the woman's companion to cry out, a
loud pitiable groan. Prone to a cynical nature, Jess
wondered what Mr. Stopwatch would do with his remaining
fifty-five minutes. She rolled her eyes and kept moving
toward the stairs in front. Her weapon held in a two-fisted
grip, she drifted down the hall with eyes alert.
Until--
"Jess? Target's on the move. You read me?" Seth cried out
through her earpiece.
"He's spooked."
Her eyes grew wide. Baker must have heard the noisy door
hinges or been warned by the front desk. Jess broke into a
sprint toward the stairs. She collided with an old wooden
banister as she rounded it, bruising a hip. Damn it!
From the front desk of the hotel, a sleazy guy in a wrinkled
T-shirt and a scraggly beard yelled after her.
"Hey, where're you goin'? I'm callin' the cops, lady."
Jess looked over her shoulder, her sarcasm on full throttle.
"Then you better flush the hookers. I'd hate to see you lose
your Triple A rating."
She barely had time to respond to the clerk's warning when
she heard Seth screaming in her ear.
"He's out the door. I can't see him, Jess. What do you want
me to do?"
She heard the panic in Seth's voice, but the slam of a door
coming from the second floor drew her attention. She had to
move. Fast. Jess bounded up the stairs, taking two steps at
a time, gripping the banister with her left hand to propel
her body up the stairs. When she got to the top, she raised
her weapon, ready for anything. The stainless steel of the
Python glinted under the pale light as she moved the barrel
right, then hard left.
That's when she heard the footsteps down the hall, running
away from her. She rounded a corner in time to see Baker
slip through a door marked exit, but not before he turned to
grin. A shaved meaty head set atop no neck on a square
muscular body, the physique of a wrestler. Scumbag! Baker
had a lead and the laptop under his arm.
"Not gonna happen, asshole!"
Jess chased after him. She knew he might stage an ambush at
the exit door, but it didn't matter. She'd risk anything to
get this jerk. Anything!
"He's going out the back. The fire escape." She took time to
let Seth know what was going on. Otherwise, the kid might do
something she'd regret later. "Hold your position. Don't do
anything."
She ended the communication, but muttered under her breath.
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