A Jordan scene

I love our four seasons in Ohio: fall, spring, summer, and Christmas. I don’t like that “w” season lol.
          I have so many favorite things about Christmas: the gift of Jesus, the twinkly lights and splashes of red, decorating the tree and giving gifts. So I have a teensy gift for you.
         I write a lot of scenes that never make it into the completed books. There are several reasons for that: (1) they don’t fit the perspective, (2) I write a scene that pushes things along better, (3) I wrote them simply to help me develop the character and how they’re dealing with life, or (4) I wrote it just for fun!
          Liam originally had four chapters in Imperfect Justice, which helped me round him out, but it dwindled down to one chapter and one scene. Don’t worry, I have future plans for him.
          For now, I do have this short scene with Jordan that takes place during my debut novel “Criss Cross” before he finds out that Holly is still alive. If you’re still reading Criss Cross, it won’t give away anything important. And you won’t find it in the finished book because the book is from Holly’s perspective only. I hope you enjoy.

Jordan lifted the mug of coffee beside him on the desk and took a sip. He grimaced as the lukewarm liquid splashed across his tongue. He’d been so caught up in reviewing the file in front of him that he’d lost track of time.
          Stop living in the past, his dad’s voice cut into his thoughts. The girl is dead.
          Jordan pushed aside the remembered “advice” and leaned back in his chair with the folder of crime scene photos and notes, the springs squeaking even louder than they had when his dad was sheriff of Stony Brooke.
         Unlike the former sheriff, he couldn’t stuff the case in a box in the storage closet and accept that she was dead. His dad tried to keep him from digging into the case when he first hired on as a deputy—concerned that it might do more harm than good—but finding Holly was one of the reasons he joined the sheriff’s department.
          She was his best friend, his playmate, his childhood crush. The rest of her family had been murdered, their bodies left in the house, but she was just . . . gone. Nine year old girls didn’t vanish on their own in the middle of the night, especially not without their shoes.
          Someone had taken her, which meant she could be anywhere in the world right now. He’d scoured the internet for any sign of her, refusing to listen to the voice of doubt that crept into his mind every time a search turned up nothing.
          Dead children don’t leave a trail.
         The missing person’s flyer pinned to his office wall drew his attention. He stared into the golden brown eyes of the nine year old girl with carrot-red hair and a mischievous smile. She’d been cute then, which meant she would be beautiful now. Delicate features and probably tall like her mother—five foot eight or nine.
         “Where are you, Holly?”
          He’d stumbled across several potential leads over the years—a red-haired Jane Doe in the morgue in Topeka, a homeless girl matching Holly’s description two counties north, a Holly Cross living in Ohio—but none of them were his friend.
         The chair springs protested as he sat forward with a sigh. “I wish I knew who took you.”
         He’d been to Holly’s house nearly every day after they became friends—playing catch with her and Gin, climbing trees—and he’d been there only eight hours before the tragedy likely struck. He should’ve noticed a stranger loitering, someone paying too much attention. He should’ve asked Holly if she didn’t feel safe. His father could’ve protected the family, could’ve kept Holly from being abducted.
         The fact that Jordan hadn’t noticed anything, hadn’t done anything to protect his friends haunted him.
          God, please let her be alive, and please help me find her.
         He’d imagined that day hundreds of times, of throwing his arms around her and catching up over a jolly sundae at the diner, but he was no closer to finding her now than he had been when he was ten, wandering through the woods and fields day after day, calling out her name.
        His office door opened, dragging him from his thoughts. Strong perfume flooded the room as Miranda poked her head in, her blonde hair falling in waves across one shoulder. She was one of only a handful of women he’d dated in town. None of the relationships lasted long, but they all ended amicably.
          “Hi, good looking. Mind if I pop in?”
          He closed the file and set it on the desk. “Sure. How are things with you and Bobby?” Bobby was her fourth boyfriend since they parted ways last year.
          “We broke up.” She pouted her glossy lips and melted into the chair across from him, crossing her long legs. “I caught him making out with my cousin.” She rolled her eyes. “She’s not even pretty.”
         Miranda wasn’t a bad person, but after a month of dating her, Jordan had realized she was like a mirage: all shimmer and no substance. She had no depth beyond her own desires.
          “I’m sorry he wasn’t faithful.” Jordan had broken up enough domestic disputes to know that many couples in this town rarely were.
          “Since I’m single again, I thought maybe you and me could give it another go. I think we’re great together.”
         “Miranda . . .”
        Her pout turned into a genuine frown. “You’re gonna turn me down again, aren’t you?”
         He didn’t want to hurt her feelings, but they were far from a good match. He was looking for more than long legs and a pretty face in a woman. He wanted someone with a compassionate heart, a quick sense of humor, someone who brought joy to his life. That wasn’t Miranda.
         “I’m sorry, but I don’t think we’re a good fit.”
         “We’re a perfect fit. The problem is,” –She looked at the flyer of Holly—  “You can’t stop chasing ghosts.”
          He crossed his arms over his chest. “This has nothing to do with me working an old case.”
          “I don’t understand why you insist on looking for her. Everyone knows that crazy killer snatched her and buried her in a field somewhere.”
         Anger sizzled in his chest, and some of it slipped into his voice. “She’s not dead, and no one knows anything. That’s the problem. Nothing about Holly’s disappearance that night makes sense.”
          Miranda offered him a pitying look. “How long are you gonna hold on to the fantasy that she’s alive? And even if you find her, what then? You think she’s gonna run into your arms and you’ll live happily ever after? If she wanted to be here, don’t you think she would be?”
          The thought had crossed his mind. Maybe he couldn’t find Holly because she didn’t want to be found. Maybe she wanted nothing to do with anyone or anything who reminded her of what she’d lost. But that didn’t fit with the girl he remembered. Holly had always been fiercely loyal and loving.
          A lot can change about a person in eighteen years.
         “If she was alive, don’t you think she would at least come visit her family’s graves?” Miranda challenged.
         Every year, on the anniversary of her family’s death, Jordan hoped Holly would join him at the cemetery, but he always stood alone.
        Miranda sighed and rose from the chair. “When you’re ready for a relationship with a woman who exists outside of your imagination, call me.”
        She walked out, closing the door behind her with a soft click. Jordan rubbed at his face. Maybe he was letting Holly’s disappearance consume too much of his life. He wanted to find her and make sure she was safe, he wanted to help her however he could, but he couldn’t let his own life slip away.
         He opened his desk drawer and tucked the file inside. He would consider how to handle the stagnant investigation tomorrow. Tonight, he had kickboxing and then dinner with Oma. As he pushed to his feet, his office phone rang.
          He stared at the caller information on the screen—Richard Marx. There was no one in his town by that name. He would call him back later. He grabbed his keys and cell, switched off the light, and left his office.